


Assassin's Creed: Independence

by kujago



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Assassin's Creed - Freeform, Assassin's Creed II, Assassins, Brotherhood, Civil War, Ezio Auditore da Firenze - Freeform, Family, Gen, Ignazio Auditore, Independence, Modern Day, Modern Era, OC, Original Characters - Freeform, Templars, The Animus (Assassin's Creed), ezio auditore - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-05-29 06:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6363559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kujago/pseuds/kujago
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When her apartment building is blown apart by an unknown force, Renley's life is thrown into disarray as she and her young siblings are thrust into a newly-seen realm of warring ideals. Soon after, when it is discovered that she possesses First Civilization blood and one of their sacred artifacts, the Assassins and Templars are thrown into a race against time and blood... but they are not alone. Fueled by vengeance and the want for a better world, Zach, a pragmatic and powerful leader of a new third party, will stop at nothing to get the ultimate prize: an Apple of Eden, sealed away by a long-forgotten ancestor. In a war of three sides, only one can prevail... but blood will always come before blood.</p><p>Please review my work if you are able, for I am always looking to improve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Epigraph

_“There is not a pure soul left in this world,_  
_There is only blood and the veins that carry it._  
_I am the veins, brother. I have always been the veins._  
_Together we are the blood, but the past has corrupted it._  
_Contaminated it._  
_Tainted it.  
_ _Independent of blood, that’s what you must become._

_But fear not,  
For tainted blood is the most independent of all.”_


	2. ACT 1: Chapter 1 - RENLEY

**RENLEY**

\---

The explosion jarred her awake from her brief slumber, and there was no time to recollect what had happened, only time to act. Her bright eyes scanned the pale darkness of the small, musty apartment until a bright light illuminated the room. She was laying on her mattress on the floor, with tattered articles of clothing everywhere around her. 

A small child gripped the back of her shirt, a little girl around two years old, and her sister.

“Rennie... No...” The child whined, and slowly opened up her sleepy blue eyes, her dirty brown hair sticking up at odd angles. The child always slept with her older sister. Not enough room elsewhere, their mother would warn. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Wake up, we have to go.” The girl said with a forced calm tone, making her movements carefully.

Stay calm, stay calm, she kept repeating in her mind. She had to be calm to get her family out of this. Another explosion shook the building, but it was not theirs. Not yet, she thought.

The girl rushed to her dresser, where half of it was leaning to the left, an ode to her stepfather who had broken it a few weeks ago. She grabbed a tattered green backpack and stuffed it with any loose clothing she could find, both her own clothing and her sisters’. She made sure she had her only prized possession around her neck, a tiny diamond-shaped golden shard. It always brought a sense of comfort to her, but even a false hope couldn’t quench her fear now. Sirens blared outside, and the light grew faint as smoke shielded their glow.

The girl’s sleepy sister sat up straight and rubbed her eyes with her thick toddler hands. She shared Renley’s eyes and chocolate-colored hair. Her pajamas were too small for her, but then again, how could they afford new clothes?

“Rennie, I’m scared,” The girl started to cry out as the instinctual sense of panic came over her as well. 

“It’s alright, come on, we need to get everyone out.” The older sister calmed her down, picking her up.

The older girl opened her door to the small apartment, and her eyes fell upon the couch, where an older woman was laid out, arm over her eyes, passed out. Her grayed-out brown hair was clustered around her aging face like a cobweb of recent neglect. She would have been beautiful if she wasn't an addict, the eldest would say.

“Mom,” The older girl put down the little one, and looked at her. “Leila, go wake Theo and Jack. Now!” She instructed the little girl. To her surprise, Leila perked up her gaze and waddled down the short hallway to her brother’s room.

Another explosion shook the building, sending Renley into a panic for the sister she just sent off. A part of the ceiling started to crack. The girl rushed over to her passed out mother on the couch, and tried to shake her awake.

“Mom! Mom, the building’s gonna fall! Something happened... MOM!” She screamed, like she had had to do several other times in the past. Come on, just this once.

Her mother simply mumbled something incoherent and turned over. How could she be so oblivious? Several seconds passed before she’d utter those same stagnant words, “Renley... get the... fuck outta ‘ere...” 

Renley Kipling. Renley Kipling was her name, and her mother was nothing more than a parasite with the face of a woman to her. The only thing that made her “mom” was the blood they shared. She was simply the lady who was "forced" to take care of her children. Mom never wanted anything to do with the family. Oh, no. Renley had to do it herself, when Mom’s drug-using husband wasn’t around. Speaking of which, he wasn’t around, which was a good thing considering the abusive, shallow-cheeked addict would just get in the way. She hated that man.

Her “mother” was nothing to her... But yet.... still her mother. Her own blood. Did blood mean anything? Renley never thought so.

“Reniiiie!” Her little sisters cry broke through Renley’s conflicted thoughts. She turned to see her little sister hand-in-hand with a four-year-old boy with messy dark hair and sleepy eyes, and an older boy around eight trailing behind her.

“Renley, I heard the explosions b-but I couldn’t move.... what are we gonna d-do?” The older eight-year-old boy asked, panic thick in his voice.

“Jack, go get your backpack and get as much clothes in there as you can,” The two boys scampered back to their rooms, the older brother Jack in the lead. They were always keen to listen to Renley. “Leila.... Leila!”

The little girl had gone over to her mother, tugging on her arm. It’s when she did this that Renley noticed the blood vessels in her mother’s arm, and the needles between the couch cushions. She grabbed Leila’s wrist in a panicked jerk before she would accidentally poke herself.

“Leila, no...” Renley said softly, but Leila started to cry.

“Mommy! Wake up! Bad noise!” She sobbed, tears trailing down her face.

Mom didn't wake up. She was too far gone, as she had been for the past seven years.

Renley picked up her crying sibling and went into the kitchen, opening up every cabinet she could see. There was never enough food. Renley managed to find a few cans of soup and threw them into the backpack before grabbing Leila again.

In the living room, Jack also tried to wake up Mom. He looked up at Renley with the most defeated, desperate expression she’d seen him have.

“Jack... No. We... we can’t.” She huffed bitterly, biting the inside of her lip. 

Jack looked down at Mom and then back to his little brother Theo, who was clinging to his leg, staring at Mom’s passed out form. 

BOOOOM!

An explosion crashed from above. 

Her building. That was her building. An alarm started blaring loudly in their ears as only one choice was made painfully clear: run or die. The smell of smoke hit her nostrils in a flare of panic, making her choke briefly. 

“FOLLOW ME!” Renley yelled above the sound and smoke. “JACK! GRAB THEO!” She shouted, grabbing her own little sister, who was screaming in fear, hands over her ears.

Renley opened the door to the hallway of the building, where it was absolute chaos. The building was shaking as Renley spun to her right just as a man came sprinting down towards her. She only made out his terrified expression as he whipped by, heading for the far right stairwell, before a huge part of the ceiling crashed on top of him in a flash of smoke and dust, the rubble breaking down to the floors below it. The ash began to burn in her throat, a constant beating reminder of the danger enclosing on them. 

The cracks in the ceiling turned into falling rubble. She ushered her siblings down the opposite way, towards the left stairwell, just as a huge piece of rubble groaned above her. Renley snapped her head up, feeling something burn on her chest. 

The necklace.

“RUN!” Renley tried to shove the kids into the stairwell, but the ceiling didn’t oblige, and crashed. The girl snatched at the burning necklace, holding her other hand in the air instinctively.

No crash... No crash... None at all?

Renley opened her eyes that were shut in her flinch, to find that the rubble had been split around them, leaving the family unharmed. A small golden glow surrounded her, but it quickly dissipated. 

Her siblings cried and stared at her, but she forced them into the stairwell. No more time, the necklace wouldn’t spare them again so soon.

Sweat dripped down her face as they made their descent along with several other panicked people, almost falling several times as rubble fell from the ceiling and walls. She looked behind her to see Jack giving a crying Theo a piggyback, keeping up with Renley. He’d stepped up recently, especially the times when Renley couldn’t, or refused.

Only a few more floors... Renley thought, pursuing that desperate hope.

People were clamboring down the steps, some looking more frightened or injured than others. Families, parents, kids... and Renley and her little family were among them. Another explosion high above made everyone run faster than before. A body fell with a sickening smack on the steps just to the left of Renley. Luckily, Leila’s face was buried in Renley’s shoulder as her tiny body clung to her. She wasn't sure about the boys.

She had to get them out... now. What was even happening? A terrorist attack? Something else entirely?

Yes! The exit! 

As Renley stepped outside through the hoard of people, she turned as Jack and Theo raced after her. 

They barely made it through the exit before the stairs behind them crumbled. She looked up in horror to see the entire top half of the building in flames, along with the building next to it. Why? Why?! Renley thought. Who could just do this?

“EVERYONE, MOVE! OUT OF HERE!” A man’s booming voice shouted over the gasps and screams of the pedestrians around. 

Everyone moved as a pack, and Renley had to grab Jack’s hand just to keep him in tow through the mob of people. Time seemed to slow down as they ran, and Renley couldn’t help but look around her.

A mother sobbed hysterically over the burned body of her child, a husband carried his wife to safety, her leg bloody... A lone child screaming for his mother... Wait.

Renley cut through the crowd over to the child, a boy only around the age of six.

“Mommy....” He sobbed, his face battered and tears staining his face.

“Come with me, there’s no time!” Renley said in a rushed tone, holding out her hand. Her instinct to protect was too strong. The little boy clutched her hand, still crying, but she didn’t think he saw any other choice. 

She had no time to ask the little boy questions, as everyone was rushing away from the burning buildings. The smell of ash threatened to choke them as the putrid smell of what must’ve been burning flesh filled their nostrils. That could’ve been her family, Renley thought. Burned alive.

She wondered who could have caused such an atrocious crime.

All these innocent people... why? Her family at such high risk... they never did anything to deserve this. Why now?

Renley vowed to herself that she’d find out who did this. She’d find out who did this, and they would pay the price.

 

\---  
\---


	3. ACT 1: Chapter 2 - JON

\---  
\---

 

**JON**

 

\---

_AN: Jon's POV parts are written by Sean Moran. All other parts are written by myself. Thank you, and leave a review/kudos if you're able! I really appreciate it! Thank you!_

\---  
\---

Philadelphia was a city that Jon Connington enjoyed with a wholehearted sense of pride. He was part of a monthly meeting at Abstergo’s Philadelphia building, so he usually took the train down for the day. It was only a few hours down from New York, which meant he was often back home within the day. Whenever he was forced to stay overnight, he stayed at the Continental Hotel, a large building that reminded Jon of the Algonquin Hotel, located on Benjamin Franklin Parkway, and ate at his favorite Indian restaurant in the US for dinner at Sitar India on 38th Street near Drexel University. His wife had grown up in Philadelphia and Jon would often visit her parents before they moved to Boca Raton.

But this stay was not a quick overnight stay. Jon was preparing for the unveiling of Abstergo Global, an expo centered on the reveal of Abstergo’s massive brand shift. All departments of Abstergo would be there to unveil new products of every sort. Abstergo Technology would unveil the Apollo Batteries, limitless batteries made from First Civilization technology. Abstergo Air would reveal the new Abstergo jetliners that would run on cleaner oil, and Abstergo Entertainment planned to reveal the first trailer for their new film “Devils of the Caribbean” and the spin-off video game of the same name. Abstergo representatives booked up the Continental, so Jon spent his days in hotel rooms and conference rooms, calling managers and car fleet operators. The first day, he was given a tour of the planned expo. The fair would run all the way up Ben Franklin Parkway with the main stage on the steps of the Philadelphia Art Museum. Larger departments of Abstergo would have spots in the park along the road, while smaller exhibitors and activities would be scattered around the exhibition, with the “base camp” of the smaller activities being at Logan Circle. After that, he had to sit through a mind-numbingly boring security meeting with Abstergo Security, Philadelphia police, the art museum security, and even Philadelphia Parking Authority. The Continental was chosen for its proximity to the Ben Franklin Parkway as well as connection to downtown.

Three days into the pre-planning of the event, Jon was able to get three hours off. He and his wife decided to walk around the city. He wore a leather jacket, a button-up shirt, and jeans while his wife wore a pair of faded jeans and a white t-shirt. She had bright blonde hair, crisp light blue eyes, and prominent cheekbones, while Jon had a more pale hair color which was cropped short. They went to see Independence Hall, had lunch with old friends, and all the while Jon never even touched his phone. It felt good to not have to worry about his other, more consuming job. It was around 8 PM when Jon and his wife Alana had Indian food at a local restaurant, the night coming forth as city lights sparked awake.  
As they walked out of the place, the ground suddenly shook four times and a few people began to scream. That wasn’t a subway or a truck, Jon thought, remembering his past experiences. He had been at war, he knew the differences. The few cabs he saw were stopped, their drivers talking excitedly on their phones, radios, or to each other. Luckily, he didn’t have to rely on a taxi. Joshua North, their driver, stood waiting by their black BMW sedan. He wore a simple black button up shirt and khakis. The young man in his late twenties kept a vigilant eye out for trouble. 

“What the hell just happened?” Jon yelled out. The murmur on the street rose to loud talking and a few people shouting. He heard sirens in the background suddenly blare in their deafening warning call.

“I don’t know sir, but it sounded like it came from downtown,” Joshua replied. His strong and stoic glance had given way to a worried look.

“Get us back to the hotel!” Jon ordered. All three of them piled into the car.

“You…You don’t think something’s happened to the hotel?” Joshua asked as he drove. Jon didn’t reply. “I’m just worried because Natalya is there.” Abstergo had planned an art exhibition at the museum the first night of the expo and invited Natalya, a fellow coworker of Jon’s, along to play at the exhibition. Alana seemed surprised at Joshua’s worry and shot Jon a look that meant her curiosity had been piqued. Jon was not surprised. He had grown to enjoy Joshua’s company and gave Joshua Natalya’s phone number. From what little he had been told, the two were getting along rather nicely.

“I didn’t know you cared so much for Natalya!” Alana brought up despite the situation. She never panicked much in these situations.

“It’s my doing, sweetheart,” Jon admitted, playing along. “I thought they’d make a cute couple, so I set them up.”

“And I’m very grateful for it, Mr. Connington. Watch out!” Joshua replied. He took a hard right onto a busy street, and then turned onto a side street after he saw that the way was blocked. Alana smiled at Jon and placed a kiss on his cheek, the two acting not very concerned as of yet.

“I keep telling you, call me Jon,” Jon said, grabbing onto his wife and the door.

“Don’t let my husband’s rough exterior fool you,” Alana joked. “He’s a romantic at heart. He tells people that I had to break him down and convince him to get married, but he was in love with me the minute we met.”

“Very true,” Jon replied with a cheeky smirk. But any further romantic conversation was ended when they pulled up around a block of tall buildings that had obstructed their view for some time, and noticed that two parts of Philadelphia’s skyline were gone. The Continental and a neighboring apartment building, both that looked down on Ben Franklin Parkway, were gone. A cloud of ash rose defiant over the city and spread. Only ruins remained on the ground. The smell of rubble and ash and fire brought back memories hidden away in Jon’s subconscious. Buried there since he left the military. An image of a burnt out Iraqi tank, a collapsed Iraqi tenement building lit by fire, flames licking at a painting of Saddam Hussein on the side. His memory shifted again, ten years times to Manhattan in 2001. The ash choked streets of that horrendous day. But Jon did not lose faith. That day only cemented his drive to make the world a better place with Abstergo. _To save people from themselves. To create a world where no one feels pain or loss or terror._

Jon ordered Joshua to stop the car and get out.

“Joshua! Get the first aid kit out of the trunk! Alana, help him! We’re going to have wounded,” Jon ordered. He was worried that his tone was too harsh but his wife nodded understandingly. She saw that this was not businessman Jon Connington; this was Corporal Jon Connington, First Cavalry Division. Joshua’s face was numb. Jon ran up to him and grabbed his shoulders.

“Listen to me soldier! We’re going to have wounded!” he bellowed. “And you need to help them and organize the police response!” He nodded finally and opened the trunk. A few police cars began showing up and Alana and Joshua filled them in on what was happening. Jon pulled off his leather jacket, slipped his phone and wallet inside and threw them into the back seat of the car before he vaulted over the black railing that encircled a patch of grass and sprinted the ten yards towards the ruins with a newfound speed. Finally he arrived and found a group of people walking aimlessly in a cloud. More people had survived then he would have thought. He counted at least two-dozen survivors from the apartment building that flanked the Continental. Police lights flashed near the ruins of the Continental, not nearly as ruined as the apartment building and at least two floors were still, tentatively, standing. 

“It’s okay!” Jon cried. “You’re okay! Just follow my voice we’re going to get you to safety!” They turned towards him numbly and walked like corpses towards him.

“That’s right! Come on!” Jon urged. He led a few of them towards some benches and helped people sit down. A few had burns on their arms, legs or torsos. One man was very badly burned. Jon kept him separate from the group so as to not alarm anyone. An EMT that had rushed from a just-arrived ambulance got him stable and thanked Jon. The cloud of ash began to dissipate, revealing the ruins. A few people began to sob. Jon went to gathered survivors and asked them their names. Finally he stopped on a young girl, maybe 16 or 17, with bright eyes and hair pulled back into a chaotic ponytail of dirty brown hair. She held a little girl in her arms, a toddler. _Daughter?_ Jon wondered. It certainly wouldn’t be an odd occurrence nowadays with teens… _Maybe a sister?_ He hoped silently.

At her feet sat three young boys, two that looked like the older girl and one that did not look anything like them, his blond hair contrasting with the group’s dark hair. All of them were wearing pajamas. The boys wore loose fitting sweatpants and dirty shirts a few sizes too big while the toddler girl wore a set of pajamas obviously a size too small for her. The oldest girl was the only one wearing pajamas that seemed to fit her, long pants and a faded Philly’s shirt.

“What’s your name?” Jon asked the girl. He got down on a knee and scanned the children. They only had some dust on them, no injuries.

“I’m Renley Kipling,” the older girl said. Judging by her voice she didn’t trust him. Jon paused when he heard that last name. He had been hearing the last name “Kipling” too many times. Not in books or TV, but in the reports that move through his desk. Someone called “Subject 21” had a connection to a cousin with the surname Kipling. Whoever this Subject 21 was, and he did know, he was very important to Jon’s superiors. And very dangerous. Black hair, two different-colored eyes that could see into your soul even from the picture Jon had seen, and a knack for not dying under even the most dire circumstances. Jon had been in this business long enough to know that you want to avoid someone who gets mentioned by people like Laetitia England frequently in emails. _Could she have a connection?_ Jon thought at the girl. He put the thought aside. There were probably tons of people with that last name.

“These are my siblings. Leila, Theo and Jack.” She said quickly, not making an effort to point out which one each name went to. _She doesn’t trust me, is she involved in this some how?_ Why else would she be distrustful of him? It was odd, she should be more panicked.

“This little boy was lost, so we rescued him from the lobby of our apartment building,” Renley explained. She pointed to the boy with blond hair, before ruffling his hair.

“What’s your name?” Jon asked the little boy. He was not the best with kids, though his wife might be able to help.

“I’m….I’m E-Eric,” he said in a low whimper. “Do you know where my momma is?” Jon looked to Renley. She shook her head slowly and shrugged.

“We’re going to find her, buddy. But right now you need to be brave. Can you do that for me?” Jon asked. The boy wiped a tear from his eye and nodded slowly. He smiled and stood up. Police officers were now on the scene and Jon motioned for them.

“I found these people wandering around the apartment buildings ruins,” Jon told the officer.

“Are these the only ones who survived?” The officer asked Jon. He turned to the group.

“The Hannon family was the first one down,” an older woman spoke up from nearby. She had a few cuts and bruises on her face. “They got out of the back. There might be a few people in the alley.” The officer turned to relay all of this over his microphone clipped on his shirt.

“And this young man is missing his mother,” Jon told the officer lastly. He motioned to Eric, the little boy. The officer nodded, gently taking the boy’s hand.

“Once we contain the site, we’ll get social services down here to attend to anyone missing,” the officer said professionally. Jon knew that voice. It was the same voice he had used when fleeing Iraqi families wailed at him to find their missing children or husbands. His sergeant had told him that it was impossible to truly help everyone. Maybe that was what drove Jon to Abstergo? _To join an organization that truly helped everyone._ Whatever it was, now was not the time to ponder his life choices.

“We need to make room for emergency vehicles, so you people will need to clear out of here,” the officer ordered. “Wounded can follow me, but if you’re not badly wounded, then move from this site and stay in a group.”

“My wife and driver are parked across the way. I’ll take them over there,” Jon said, pointing to the sedan a few yards away. The officer nodded. Jon was left with six people while the others crowded the ambulances for their burns. Some were bad injuries, while others were minor scrapes. But Jon understood that they were not thinking rationally at this time.

“Why did you do that?” a voice asked. He turned to see the girl, Renley, walking close to him. Her siblings followed along, just wanting to be near their sister. They looked panicked, too frightened to speak.

“What?” Jon raised an eyebrow. He was reminded about Subject 21 again.

“Helping that little boy. You don’t know us, you don’t know any of us. Why help?” She pressed. Jon shrugged. The oldest boy looked at Renley as if telling her to not be rude, but stopped himself.

“Because it’s the right thing to do. I believe in a better future, a world of peace. If we are to achieve that, then those strong enough to make that happen must step forward and take charge,” Jon said. She chuckled.

“Are you with the Quakers in the city? That American Friends group? Because that sounds like part of their rhetoric, mixed with a hint of Darwinism,” She laughed, coughing on ash the smallest amount as Jon smirked. Smart as a whip, this one.

“I am a philanthropist, just not the ones that sit by and make useless protests,” Jon admitted. Renley was silent. When they got to his car, Alana hugged him.

“You disappeared into that cloud and I was so worried for you,” she cried. Jon patted his wife’s back.

“It’s okay sweetheart,” he replied with a smile. He motioned to Renley and the survivors. “These are the unharmed survivors that I found.” Alana nodded and helped Joshua clean them up. They had gotten a pack of water bottles and were passing them out to the survivors as well as blankets to wrap themselves in. A cool wind had started up that was blowing the ash into an ominous cloud hanging above the Ben Franklin Parkway. Alana chatted with the smallest of Renley’s siblings, who finally showed signs of positivity despite their panic. Jon smiled at the sight. When the two were married, they both agreed that they did not want children as they both preferred to focus on work rather than raising a family. Perhaps I should bring it up? With technology these days, I’m sure Alana could become pregnant. Abstergo might even do it for free... No. Not now.

Jon ordered Joshua to take them out of here. After getting them all into the car, which was a process since they were pretty crammed in there, he sat up and reached into his pocket and found a round pin with a red crusader cross on it. Jon pulled the cap off and stuck it through the lapel of his shirt as they drove north to a safer location in the city.

_May the Father of Understanding guide us in these dark days ahead..._


	4. ACT 1: Chapter 3 - JET

\---

 **JET**

\---

 

The bus screeched onwards after the fourth-or-so stop, jerking forwards at the slightest touch of the driver’s foot. A venerable yet decrepit model, most likely. Outside, the overcast sky allowed only a faint glow of sun through it, the gray clouds matching the slate-colored city below it. Inside the bus, a pair of strange bright eyes gazed out of the window, sparkling brightly before falling to shadow as the eyes’ owner shifted to view the streets instead of the clouds.

The young man shifted a dark gray hood over his face, hiding an unruly mop of pitch black hair that was still somewhat kempt despite its tendency to curl at the ends. As the bus slowly fell to another stop near the Ben Franklin Parkway, the man stood up and slowly made his way to the front of the bus just as the driver began a brief announcement.

“The next stop on North 23rd is on detour due to the recent attack, continuing to next stop at Logan Square.” The driver announced in a gravelly voice.

The young man ignored the driver, knowing the situation already. Terrorists, they’re calling them. Happened just yesterday, and he had made a beeline for the city as soon as possible to acquire a grasp on the situation. It was his mission, after all, assigned by mostly himself to check it out, but of course the Mentors had had a say in it as well. It was likely there was other business at hand here.

This man’s name was Ezekiel Jacob Akulov, but he’d much prefer the name Jet, an acquired name from his years in the Assassin Brotherhood, the true fighters of freedom. _Because even the terrible things like me deserve freedom to face the consequence of life._ His new name was something he earned, and earning a status was something that meant a lot to him. Jet was one of the best in the Brotherhood by modern standards; A Master Assassin at the age of 20 gave any reason for the young man to boast. To him however, his rank was nothing more than a title, but a title that he worked for. He never boasted about his standings in the Brotherhood, he was content with them. He was trusted, capable, if a bit hotheaded at times, but he never asked for a higher rank. As much as he tried, Jet knew he would never be a true leader, not with his track record at least. He knew it was fair in the end, though. Everyone in this world has a place, and his was not quite at the top. 

Of course, he could always dream about it.

Jet Akulov made his way down the cracked sidewalks of Philadelphia, hood still raised to avoid any direct suspicion. Jet never liked keeping his hood up for so long though, because suspicion could arise just from that. It was a game he had to play, a game he knew well. Those strange eyes scanned many faces in the crowds he came across, all of their features stored inside his photographic mind that worked a little more overtime than normal. It wouldn’t be rare for Jet to see shadows on the corners of his vision where there were none, or for an obsidian-colored cat with bright yellow eyes to be peeking out of a building’s window. On the proper medication, the abnormalities in his mind and ears were kept at a minimum, but they were never far. 

When he turned the corner, most of the street was cut off by yellow police tape, and a multitude of police cars, SWAT vehicles, and other various specialists were sprawled about the rubble-strewn street. Dust began to flick at Jet’s well-worn All-Stars, making the faded red turn a rusty tan. Jet moved his gaze to the buildings themselves, which were only half-standing, but at least no smoke was spewing out of them like it showed on the news more than a dozen times. 

“...They’re reporting over fifteen deaths and as many as forty injuries, and of those forty, sixteen are in critical condition,” A blonde newscaster announced into a large camera held by a sturdy man, the wires connecting the camera attached to a nearby news vehicle. Jet noticed another reporter on the opposite side of the rubble doing the same broadcast but with a different television channel. “There is no word on the culprit of these bombings, but we have specialists live at the scene, who say they will have a public report by the end of the day. We will be stopping our regular broadcasting immediately and bring you live, right here in Philadelphia, for the announcement when it happens. Back to you, George.” The reporter signed off, and the cameraman gave her a wave to signal to her that she’s offline. With a sigh, she immediately broke her solid character and wiped her brow, before looking at the rubble behind her in what could be described as a mix of exhaustion and bafflement. 

Jet proceeded to walk closer to the yellow tape where other people were looking at the collapsed buildings in shock and sadness. He looked at the nature of the explosions... the bottoms of the buildings looked the least unharmed, meaning that the bombs were likely set off somewhere on a top floor, or perhaps even the roof. These apartments were only five stories high, nothing important at all besides being residential, one a hotel. It was likely that it could be some pyromaniac that snapped and had something personal against a tenant of the apartments, or it could be what Jet had come here for: something dealing with either the Assassins or Templars. Unlikely though, considering both sides had strict rules about this type of violence. _Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent_ , a tenet of the Brotherhood read. That was a reason why the Mentor named Thomas had assigned this to Jet; just one Assassin at the scene would be more than enough since this didn’t seem like a targeted attack... But it could have been rogue Assassins, Jet thought. Abstergo _was_ having an expo here, if he remembered the report right. It wouldn’t be rare, more and more rogues had been popping up in the last ten or so years.

“Sir, please step away from the tape,” A stern voice growled at Jet, the voice coming from a beefy police officer who walked over, hands at his belt. He looked tired, bags under his eyes, and Jet could almost taste the tang of coffee on his breath. 

_Don’t worry officer, I’m white,_ Jet wanted to spit as the officer got a look at him. Fighting police injustice was a forefront of the Brotherhood lately. 

“Sorry, sir, just looking... My friend was in that attack.” Jet said, trying to make casual conversation for any possible leads this officer might have.

The officer bowed slightly and sighed, looking back at the rubble with a more complacent expression than before towards him. “Sorry, kid. Are they alright, do you know?”

Jet felt his eye twitch slightly. _Call me “kid” again, and I’ll make you swallow that shiny name tag on your chest._

“Yes, they’re okay, thankfully. Anyone you know get hurt?” Jet asked, forcing his tone into a higher pitch as he spoke. He liked to call it his “innocent lost teenager” voice. Worked like a charm with the right adult. He hated using it though, considering he was in his early twenties _and_ taller than this officer.

“Yeah... only a broken leg and some burns though, thankfully all recoverable. Good friend of mine, he was a businessman and we went to school together. However, his coworker wasn’t so lucky... the guy was also in line to be my friends boss. Funny world, huh...” The officer huffed, shuffling a foot.

“Sorry to hear that. What kind of business is your friend in? My friend was a business kind of guy too.” Jet put his hands in his pockets, gazing at the rubble with solemn eyes.

“Worked for Abstergo, actually! One of those IT guys, but his friend was only here on business for the Abstergo Global opening. He worked for the big guys in New York, too. Shame...” The officer sighed.

“Abstergo? Wow, that’s a good job to get. My friend was actually going to be there applying. Damn...” Jet exhaled. The breeze sent a gust over the two as a fresh wave of ash hit their noses.

“Well, take care of yourself, bud. I’m sure we’ll find the culprit by the end of the day, don’t you worry.” The officer tipped his hat before moving back to a group of other officers who looked deep in conversation.

The young man turned on his heel, knowing where to head next for some more clues. Abstergo holing up several of their employees in one of the hotels that burnt down? It was beginning to look like less and less of a mere coincidence in Jet’s mind. 

“We are here in Philadelphia, live again on the scene of the bombings, where we are told the specialists have found solid evidence of who the perpetrator might be. Here is Anderson Michaels, the lead specialist, with the report.” 

Jet turned again, stepping closer so he could hear the announcement. The reporter from before handed the mic to a tall man in his forties who was wearing what looked like a cross between a SWAT uniform and a hazmat suit.

“Hello, I’m here on behalf of the Philadelphia and Pennsylvania State police to announce who we think is the terrorist behind these bombings.” He began, obviously rehearsed as he didn’t seem very camera-friendly. The reporter shifted the mic back to her.

“And what gives you this conclusion, before you tell us the name?” 

“Well, we’ve had this guy in our records for awhile, but we believe he’s the culprit for what you see here today for a few reasons. We have reason to believe he has a deeply personal drive against Abstergo Industries, due to receiving reports about him stalking certain Abstergo workers within the past year. Many Abstergo representatives have gone missing where he’s been reported, which was mainly around the New York location. However, he hasn’t been seen in New York for some time, which leads us to believe he might have taken his insanity here where there was an Abstergo expo. The biggest lead, however, is the fact we’ve gotten four different reports of seeing him here in Philadelphia before the bombs went off. Some of the reports claimed he was loitering around these apartments for quite some time, but we’re still piecing together what rough security footage we have.”

“Can you release the name of this man?”

“Yes, Jet Akulov, the first name of which we think is a type of gang name or simply an alias of sorts. The reports say he has short dark hair, but the biggest defining feature is the fact he has two different-colored eyes, one is a light blue, and the other a sort of greenish-blue. We have no other information other than that, but we think with the scarcity of people with heterochromic eyes and the huge impact this bombing has caused, he’ll be found very soon, perhaps even today.” The specialist concluded.

Jet’s heart felt like ice in his chest as his stomach lurched. 

They were looking for _him_? No, he didn’t do anything! He had just gotten here...

“Hey! I was just talking to a kid like that! There!” The officer Jet was talking to before pointed down the street at Jet, eyes blazing with betrayal.

However, Jet was always a step ahead, and had already bolted down the corner before anyone could see. Cursing under his breath, he pushed past the lunchtime commuters and journalists as he tried to get as far away from the apartments as possible.

“ _They’re after you!_ ” A malicious, metallic voice cut through Jet’s thoughts. 

Jet was used to this voice, and pushed it away accordingly. It did nothing but heighten his nerves over these events. This was definitely something between the Assassins and Templars, no doubt. Why else would his name be falsely plastered across the news?

Jet’s phone buzzed in his jacket pocket, but he ignored it, keeping his pace as he dashed nimbly through the streets of Philadelphia. He had to find somewhere he could lay low... or perhaps he should leave as soon as possible? Police would be swarming in every corner of this city looking for him... Any method of travel would be dangerous, and Jet had made the mistake of coming here by train. If only he’d had his Harley with him... But the train was much faster, after all. Not like he was expecting this.

He swung around a corner into a large alleyway, peeking back behind him to see if the coast was clear, which it was, for now. Jet caught his breath for a few seconds before reaching into his pocket and grabbing his phone. Luckily, nobody seemed to be around this street, so he thought he could grab a minute or two to rest and think about his next plan of action. He read the text that popped up moments ago.

It was from Adam, one of the Mentors, and quite an annoying one at that. “ _What the fuck? Are these twats drunk or did you actually do something?_ ” Jet could practically hear Adam’s peeved British accent through the text. Jet could picture him in his room in the Manhattan den, with about five or six different monitors up at once going over live coverage. He was a tech wizard, to say the very least. The Assassins had a lot of computer whizzes, but Adam was one of the best. Jet hoped that if things went sour he could try to see if Adam had a plan out, but Jet was a stubborn man and wanted to try his own way first.

Jet texted back quickly, “ _I didn’t do shit; tryna leave ASAP. Don’t send help._ ”

The sound of approaching footsteps made Jet’s head snap from his phone and to who was heading down this shady alley. He stuffed his phone in his pocket, hair on the back of his neck standing up as his muscles tensed beneath his hoodie.

His stomach lurched when he recognized the individual: a man a little younger than double his age with short dirty blonde hair and a unique pair of calculating eyes. This man was a Templar, working for Abstergo; _Jon Connington_ , he thought. Jet’s memory never lied. The Templar pin on his lapel was the last straw for Jet as he lunged forward just as Jon must’ve recognized him too.

As Jet lunged, pushing his right forearm into Jon’s neck to shove him against the wall, Jet’s other hand flicked to his pocket. A flash of gold shimmered from Jet’s pocket before a golden dagger was held to Jon’s neck, who was now pinned against the wall. However, Jet shouldn’t have underestimated a Master Templar, even an unarmed one. In a single move, Jon managed to plant a fierce kick into Jet’s abdomen, knocking the wind out of his lungs for a brief moment. He doubled back as Jon kicked him in the jaw as he bent over in pain. Jet stumbled into the opposite wall, before using the faint momentum to kick off of it and charge at Jon, except this time, the golden dagger in his left hand shifted, a small orb of gold shimmering on both fists as golden bagh nakh, tiger claw weapons, appeared on Jet’s fists a second later. 

Jon anticipated Jet’s lunge, diving to the side, but Jet was just as fast, and shifted his weight to leap at Jon in a swift turn. The impact between Jet’s charge and Jon’s maneuver to get out of the way caused the two to dramatically roll like a pair of fighting lions, with Jet trying to slash at Jon, and Jon trying to kick Jet off of him.

“HEY! Hey, what the fuck?!” Jet heard a shrill female voice off in the distance, at least, he thought it was in the distance. His mind was all on the offensive, every fiber of his body poised to kill. Other distractions could wait.

Just as Jet pinned Jon to the ground and raised a claw to slash downward into Jon’s neck, a pair of thin arms grabbed his raised wrist, pulling him back. Jet lashed out at the person behind him with his other elbow, getting them off of him as he heard a pained cough, the grip now released from his arm. However, this gave Jon an opening, and he took it, punching Jet directly in the solar plexus, making the young man immediately double over and fall to his side, gasping and writhing for air.

However, Jet could not be easily beaten. As Jon hustled to his feet, eyes blazing, Jet was right there with him, scrambling to get to his own feet even as he struggled to breathe. He was slightly hunched over now, trying to take a normal breath of air as he always kept his striking eyes on the Templar. Jon’s eyes looked like they were out for blood, and Jet’s weren’t much better.

“STOP! Stop this right now!” The same shrill female voice from before hit Jet’s ears as a skinny brown-haired girl stepped between them, her tan arms out to separate them.

“Why did you plaster my fucking face all over the news?!” Jet snarled at Jon, knuckles turning white. The bagh nakh in his hands shimmered and groaned faintly as Jet clutched them tighter. He took a step forward, making the girl’s hand press into his chest to keep him back.

Before Jon could reply, the brown-haired girl’s face snapped to Jet’s, her bright eyes wide with an emotion Jet had not seen in a long time by a stranger. It was blank, yet subtly murderous. He was confused for a moment, her stare perplexing him.

_Who is she...?_

Before Jet could figure it out, the girl charged at Jet, sending him to the ground before either side could intervene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some action! Please review if you are able, I'm always looking for comments/critique on my writing. Plot-wise, we haven't even scratched the surface, so be sure to check back next week for more! Thank you so much for reading!


	5. ACT 1: Chapter 4 - RENLEY

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\---

 

RENLEY

 

_This bastard... He destroyed my home and made my family homeless,_ Renley screamed in her mind as she took the dark-haired guy to the ground, her hands and nails instinctively gripping tightly around his scarred neck. It was only a few seconds before Renley felt a leg around her lower back, and suddenly her weight was thrown to her left. Before she knew it, this guy had pinned her to the ground, his strange golden claw weapons at her neck. 

“Jet! You little shit, ” Jon was quick, however, and grabbed the young man by his hair and flung him off of Renley, looking like he was going to punch him again. The girl was about to gladly let Jon rip this fucker to pieces for destroying her home, but Jet’s pained wince and the way he looked up at Jon made her immediately reconsider. He looked like a victim. A victim of something he didn’t do, and Renley knew that look well.

“Before you hit me again, Templar, at least know that it wasn’t me who set off those bombs!” Jet growled from his position on the ground, his hands still wielding those claws. His hair was a curled, gnarled mess. He looked up at Jon with a stubborn, steely expression. What was that word Jet had called Jon? A Templar? Jon raised an eyebrow at Jet’s notion.

“Oh yeah? Then who did?” Jon demanded, his tone rough. Jon said this in a way that made Renley think that Jon was already piecing at names in his mind... almost like he knew Jet or someone similar to him.

“That’s why I came here! I thought this would be your type of activity gone wrong, or perhaps a mercenary who went a little too crazy,” Jet defended his stance in a slightly calmer tone, but it still retained a certain edge. Jon scoffed, and the young man slowly stood and straightened up, rolling his shoulders back.

“Why would I, or anyone from my company, blow up a building during one of _our_ expos? Especially at an apartment complex that was housing our own businessmen? Are you truly that stupid to think I would know anything about that? You people all think like children sometimes.” Jon spat, his anger escalating. He sounded like an angry father whose son had been out all night.

“I know what _you people_ are capable of,” Jet kept his hardened expression fixated on Jon. The tension between them was beginning to make the air almost crackle, and Renley feared these two would get into another, bloodier fight. _You people?_ Renley thought. What were they talking about? Why did this confrontation seem so... staged?

“ _Reeeeeenleeeey_!” A young boy’s voice echoed from the entrance of the alleyway, and Renley turned in surprise to see her eight-year-old brother, Jack, calling for her. Jet and Jon’s heads snapped up in the direction of Jack’s voice.

Her siblings were supposed to be inside the hotel apartment! How did Jack get all the way down here? 

“Jack! You’re supposed to be--” Renley started.

“It’s the news! They captured the guy!” Jack shouted, before running off down the street. Her brother was always making a big deal out of everything, but this time, Renley knew it was rightly justified. 

Jon and Jet exchanged an astonished glance before Jet pulled his hood over his head. 

“Wait... but you’re...” Renley began. Jet was the suspect, he was right in front of her! How could they have caught someone that looked like him? Renley didn’t know a single person with similar features.

Jet started to make his way towards where the little boy was going, but Jon went to grab his shoulder to keep him back. The dark-haired man caught Jon’s wrist swiftly before he could place it, giving him a cold stare.

“I deserve to see this news too, don’t you think? I will leave as soon as I have seen the report.” Jet said flatly, letting go of Jon’s wrist and walking forward.

Renley saw Jon’s hands curl into fists briefly before she ran after Jet, hearing Jon’s footsteps behind her.

Jet realized she was approaching, and turned as he walked. “Who are you exactly?” 

“Like you need to know,” Renley narrowed her eyes. Ass.

“Oh come on, it’s easy. I’m Jet, and you are...?” He rolled his eyes, offering her the chance to reply back.

“Renley.” She muttered, refusing to look at him. Renley still didn’t trust him.

Ahead of them, the dark-haired eight-year-old was pointing inside an electronics store with televisions on sale, all displaying the same news report. 

“Look! They got him!” Jack pointed excitedly at the screen.

Renley was the first to sprint over, followed by Jet and then Jon. The news report was going on about the capture of the suspect, a blonde female reporter for one of the biggest news stations live at the scene. Pain gripped Renley’s heart again as she saw the devastation of her old home in the background. While she knew her home life wasn’t the best, it was still all she had, and it had been taken from her. It cost her mother’s life, and almost her siblings’ lives as well. That kind of bitterness is hard to fade.

“Akulov was reprimanded in North Philadelphia just over eleven minutes ago, after the young man was trying to hide in one of the apartments there. A few local residents had tipped off the police of his presence, and soon, they had found the correct suspect. Here is the first acquired picture of the culprit.” The reporter explained, before an image popped up on the screen.

The picture showed a man in his mid-twenties, with disheveled dark hair and heterochromic eyes, just like Jet’s eyes. Except... it wasn’t Jet. The man on the screen looked like his pale blue eye was fake, similar to a glass eye of sorts. The real Jet also had a deep scar on both his right-side cheek down to his jaw and another on his neck, where this doppelganger had a simple lip scar and yellowed teeth. 

“That’s... that’s not me...” Jet breathed with incredulity, exhaling with both confusion and relief.

Jack looked back at Jet in surprise, doing several double-takes between him and the man on the screen.

“Wow! He’s like your twin or something!” Jack pointed between the screen and Jet with a big goofy grin, like he’d solved a big mystery.

“Something like that, I guess...” Jet looked at Jon, raising an eyebrow. Their aggravated looks before were replaced by ones of pure bewilderment. Neither of them looked like they knew what was going on, but yet Renley felt like they still knew more than the general public, or at least her. This was beginning to form a pit of confusion within her, and the leftover anger of her old home’s destruction only fueled the fire.

“What is it with you two? Do you know each other?” She asked, a faint edge of paranoia in her voice.

“No.” Jet said simply. Jon shook his head as well.

“You sure act like it... Like you’re old enemies or something. And you said his name while you fought,” Renley crossed her arms, looking at Jon.

“Well, you’d have a slight little grudge too if some street punk attacked you in an alleyway,” Jon growled, making a stab at Jet. 

Jet looked like he was about to explode, hands curling into fists again. “At least I’m not the one--”

“Shut up! My god...” Renley shouted exasperatedly, narrowly avoiding cursing loudly in front of Jack. The two stopped and refused to look at each other. Renley turned back to Jack.

“Are your brother and sister alright?” She asked the boy. Maybe a bad idea, considering Jack’s ever-unwavering enthusiasm.

“Leila and Theo are back at the room, but they were sleeping, and the news was on, so I said, ‘Hey! I need to tell Renley about the guy!’ So I remembered Jon said you guys were gonna go find something to eat and I thought that wouldn’t be hard to find you because there’s a lot of food places on this street and I went down the elevator all by myself and out to the street and saw the TV’s and the news and then I heard you yell and BAM! I found you!” Jack rambled quickly, taking sharp breaths every now and then through his speech. Her little brother was always known to talk way too much.

“Uh... good... good job...” Renley wasn’t sure what to say. Should she be mad he just left the hotel room, or happy he found them in time before Jon and Jet got into a fight? Oh well, *just focus on the present*, she reminded herself.

“Jesus, that kid got a mute button?” Renley heard Jet grumble under his breath, and she shot him a cold look, shutting him right up. He had a shit-eating smirk on his face, though.

Jet scooted past Jon, taking a few steps back.

“Well, I have a lot to process now. I’ll be leaving, folks.” He did a quick two-finger salute off of his forehead to signal his departure as he turned to leave.

“Hey! You’re not going anywhere!” Jon commanded in that “dad voice” again, pointing a finger at Jet, who promptly sneered.

“Who’s gonna make me? You’re not armed, and I...” The tiger claws in Jet’s hands shifted before their eyes as he twirled two golden semiautomatic pistols in his hands. “Well, I am.” He smirked.

Jon said nothing. He seemed unfazed by Jet’s weapon suddenly shapeshifting like that, while Renley's jaw dropped. What in the _hell_ was that?

“WHOA! How did you do that?” Jack gaped, jumping a few times in excitement.

“Magic, kid. See ya around.” Jet grinned widely, putting the guns in his belt and shifting his hoodie over them. As he turned, he took off into a sprint.

“Hey! Just who are you exactly? WAIT!” Renley shouted after him.

However, Jet was off, and Renley wondered if he hadn’t heard her or was ignoring her. From what she could tell of the cheeky bastard, probably the latter. But still... That item reminded her of her own necklace. They both worked in such strange ways... The necklace had never protected her like that before, back at the apartment building. Something felt very right, or very wrong. She didn’t know.

Before he blended into a cluster of people, Renley saw Jet throw up a middle finger, probably directed at Jon, who sighed angrily, “Let’s just go get you settled...”

Seconds later, Jet disappeared.


	6. ACT 1: Chapter 5 - VERONICA

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\---

 

**VERONICA**

 

 _Sigh_. She exhaled softly, her breath only slightly warmer than the air around her. _This will be worth it, at least. If he’s not completely incompetent. Whatever._ She thought to herself. 

Veronica was her name. Just Veronica. The use of a last name wasn’t something she wanted to burden herself within her “specialized” line of work. She used to have one, a long time ago, but it only served its purpose for paperwork. At least that's what she kept telling herself. The wind kicked up a breeze from the clouds above, whipping her brown hair around her. God, sometimes long hair was such a goddamn hassle. 

The city she looked over was bustling as the distant sun began to set, turning the sky into a brilliant array of purples, blues, and reds. If it wasn’t a city, stars might be peeking out from between the clouds that reflected the skyscrapers’ dim light. Standing on the ledge of one of the taller buildings, then sitting boredly, she checked her phone again to see what was going on. Maybe the ol’ big guy decided to text. Nope.

“Ugh. This is the worst. I _hate_ waiting.” She growled to herself, watching some of the people walk around below. Some inkling within her consciousness felt a tinge of pity for them, but it was only because she knew how little they would matter in the grand scheme of things. A shame they had to remain ignorant, but it was for the best.

 _Is it really?_ something thought in her. Veronica found her subconscious quite annoying. It’s always been that way.

Veronica thought about taking out her rifle to clean the metal components, but she decided it would probably not be a good sign if someone curious looked up and saw someone on the roof of a building cleaning a gun. Her rifle was her favorite belonging, and shooting her most deadly skill. It was why she was picked for this, after all. Well, sort of. That’ll come more into play later than it would now.

As the sun’s last rays slipped over the cityscape, Veronica was ready to slip into a frenzy from being so goddamn bored.

Just as the thought ticked in her brain, the roof door behind her creaked open, and she whipped around, within a second pointing a Beretta pistol at the figure that took form from the shadows of the stairwell. The man alarmingly threw his hands up in the air. He looked young, around her own age, but skittish.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, it’s me. You’re Veronica, right? I’m with Zach.” The man gulped, and to Veronica’s slight satisfaction, he shook in fear of her. She hoped Zach had told them stories about her. She _loved_ scaring people she had never met. 

She lowered her Beretta, her gray gaze piercing into him in the dim light. “You’ve kept me waiting a long fucking time. I hope it was because you were triple-checking everything.” She stalked closer.

“Y-yeah, of course. Everything went off without a hitch. Sven is in position and ready for your call.” He said, bowing slightly. 

“I find it extremely amusing. This whole plan, I mean. Sven looks just like him, though. I hate that.” Veronica sighed.

“He _has_ to look like him, remember?”

And then, a hand was at the man’s neck.

“Trying to be smart with me? You know what happens to recruits out of line?” Veronica snarled through her teeth, but let the shaking man go. “Nevermind. Of course you do. I only said that _because_ he looks like that piece of shit. God knows I’m only in this for two things: the pay, and the chance to see true justice rise to the Assassins and my shitty ex to slowly crumble into pieces.” She smirked at the thought.

Veronica hated her ex. Her mind was such a bustle for her to locate exact, vivid memories of him, but every fiber of her existence snarled at the mere thought of him. Perhaps that was why she was so blind in her rage against him; she needed answers to some degree.

“I-I already let Zach know. He said it’s your call now.” The man regained his composure, rubbing his now-red neck.

Veronica turned back to the city, walking over to the ledge again. The wind blew up at her, dim orange light from the street below illuminating her slightly. She took out her phone, dialing the safe number Zach had instructed.

No hello greeted her, just a tone and then a tiny click. If the wind wasn’t so prominent at this elevation, one could hear breathing on the other side.

“Now.” She said simply, before hanging up and quietly putting the phone back into her jean pocket.

The man stood there awkwardly, watching her. Veronica walked back over to him, slinging the large bag that held her rifle over her shoulder and opening the door to descend. She stopped right before going through the door, looking at the recruit.

“Do you pity those we will harm?” She asked, breaking that toxic silence between them. He looked at her, large blue eyes glinting in a slight break of surprise, breaking his forced composure.

“No. It’s for the good of the world. As Zach always said.” He said flatly, remembering his training. So “by-the-books”, this one.

“Not even the innocent civilians?” She raised an eyebrow.

“I mean... maybe... B-but if this is the best route, like Zach says it is, I have no qualms.” He said, nodding at her.

“No. You won’t have any qualms.”

A metal circle appeared between his eyes.

“Wha-what are you--”

Trigger pulled. A body smacked dully onto the concrete.

“‘Destroy to rebuild’. I thought that’s what Zach taught you,” Veronica stared at the body, the man’s eyes bulging wide in his last emotion: fear. “Useless.” She snarled, putting her Beretta in its holster on her belt. _Shouldn’t be anyone to find this body for awhile_ , she thought. Gloves were helpful, too. She picked up the bullet casing from the ground and pocketed it.

Violence wasn’t the means to their end, Zach told Veronica before. But it was a means to restore the world to its intended state. Veronica thought he was a fucking lunatic. _And you’re not?_

Sometimes, the more insane you sound, the more you make sense, at least to a point. It’s ambition and passion that create a leader. Power is nothing more than an illusion that all humans follow, or create. Following a leader is easier than being one. 

But she was not a follower.

Veronica took one last look behind her at the city, before the dark blue skyline erupted into flames.

 

\---

\---

 

**Two Days Later**

\---

 

 _Phase two_ , Veronica sighed. She was beginning to get sick of sitting on rooftops, especially when there was a helicopter floating by seemingly every minute. It wasn’t that hard, though. Zach had sent a few helpers this time, all taking the roles of “cameramen” on the rooftop while Veronica spent most of the time in standard reporter garb, hating the feel of the fabric quietly, while staring at the scene below with binoculars. 

“Damn,” she breathed, a smirk piercing her cheek. “Only a matter of time before some real fun begins. Their entire force is jammed with missions except for him, so if it’s not him showing up, I will eat my own damn boot.” Veronica growled to no-one in particular. 

The building was decimated, only the skeleton of framework still standing in a blackened ruin amongst the gray debris below. An entire section of the city was blocked off at a standstill by both the police and government forces as they controlled the crowds and combed the rubble. They had already found the “culprit”, Veronica heard. 

Jet Akulov.

The indentation of his name in her mind must have struck some chord in the universe, because as soon as her blood reached a boil over the thought of him, the bastard appeared in her sights. He had his hood up, but Veronica was very sure it was him. She knew how he walked, how he hung his head just so slightly when he did so, and how he carefully peeked around every street corner. He was heading towards the site, and soon her view would be limited, especially when the fun began.

“Got him,” Veronica announced. “Let Zach know. Keep an eye on him, I need to get to a different angle. Text me when it begins.” She said, shoving the binoculars into the man next to her before slinging her bag over her shoulder and jogging to the roof door and down without another word. 

_...to see him again..._ Veronica’s brain flickered. She gritted her teeth as she bolted into the elevator and punched the button to the first floor. _...Don’t you miss him..._

“Nope.” She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply and exhaling the same. The trickling thoughts slowly ebbed away until her mind was once again solely focused on the mission. Those thoughts could be such an annoyance, and could cost her job if she wasn’t careful. Luckily managed easily, though.

The ride designated for her was waiting, and upon seeing its boring exterior and interior again, she wished she had her own ride with her, a Ford GT, but that car was nothing more than scrap metal thanks to her ex. It was all his damn fault. She groaned and made herself get in, before testing the street laws of Philadelphia in order to get to her destination. 

\---

_“I love you,” He said, his voice shaking with the weight of what he meant. He seemed nervous, like he was frightened at the thought of shattering me with only his words._

_“I love you too.” I replied, tugging him closer. I knew what he meant to me, but part of me felt so foolish. I fell for him too hard. Now I cannot bring myself to stand on my own feet. I now bear the feet of a future consequence, but a consequence I had accepted in that moment._

 

\---

Veronica slammed on the brakes just as she was about to crash into a moving line of traffic. Those voices. A clammy hand met her scalp as she pushed her hair back, regaining her composure. That never happened before. The potency of her thoughts. Just thoughts, she said. It happens to everyone.

 

“I hate you, Jet, and I will destroy you and everything you love.” She seethed, white knuckles threatening to crush the steering wheel.

 

_You’re such a child, Veronica._

 

“The child in me died with the smoke of the bullet that ended my life in his. Shut the fuck up.” She told herself angrily.

 

The voice ceased as she watched the unfolding scheme before her. Up the building, to the roof again... looking over to see the two pawns collide. No, three now. 

 

Jet, a Templar, and an incompetent child in way over her head. Except, the report she received was true... she had a necklace peeking from her shirt, and even from this distance a small flicker of glare hit Veronica’s eyes from the item on the chain. Excitement and jealousy bubbled inside her as she thought about that necklace... It was a shame this girl had to be manipulated into this war. Perhaps it’d go smoothly... Oh, but it wouldn’t. If it was that simple, this would have been over weeks ago. Another small boy came into play shortly after, and Veronica narrowed her eyes.

 

_Oh, a family too? Girl, you better make this easy... Because family never does._


	7. ACT 1: Chapter 6 - ZACH

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\---

 

 

ZACH

 

It was a quaint and cloudless day in Bensalem, Pennsylvania, the beautiful weather making the sturdy tudor-style home seem timeless in the crisp air. While the tudor could hold well over six people in its spaces, there were a bit more than six people staying in this home currently.

In the upstairs office room, Zach leaned back on his office chair, feet up on his desk in a casual manner while his eyes intently watched the television program on the side table. In his hands, Zach held a gleaming silver sword with a golden hilt, twirling it in his hands absently. It was a long sword, a relatively normal and double-edged model, its steel marked with nicks and marks that showed it had seen many fights since its creation, but never a single repair. Never needed it. He stopped every now and then to pick one of his nails with the end of it, as if he didn’t exactly care much about it.

“Akulov is under custody, and US government officials will be questioning him long into the night, where they hope they can figure out his reasoning for this horrendous crime that has shaken both this city, and even the world.” The reporter announced, straight from the scene of the crime.

Zach shut the television off as soon as the reporter was finished, the room falling to a type of interior silence that only a library could challenge. Tiny golden dust motes floated into the light, pouring around the back of Zach’s head and onto the table in front of him. 

He turned to the other ten people in the room that he seemed to completely ignore before. They looked at him expectantly, waiting for an order silently.

“Well, well... that’s a wrap, folks.” Zach grinned, his smile spreading across the faces of his captains like a twisted virus.

Ten captains, in charge of one hundred soldiers each. Well-trained to the point of being able to take down even the higher ranks of Assassins or Templars, or at least Zach thought so. Most of them came from either organization, anyway. So many defectors, so little time...

The man shifted his weight in the chair, putting his feet down and placing his elbows on the desk to lean forward, his stature meaning business now as opposed to recreation.

“Everyone is to lay low. The government may not be looking for us, but the Assassins and Templars have already been attracted to the area, and they’re going to be quite confused when they figure out neither of them did it. Kingston!” Zach ordered a name.

A man of a darker complexion stepped forward, making a slight bow. He had a thick scar over his nose , and his eyes seemed to spark with excitement over what Zach had in store. Zach knew all about Kingston, of course, Kingston not being his real name. Fought in the US military for seven years, then worked as a hired mercenary after being honorably discharged, mostly sticking to services within Africa and the Middle East where tensions commonly ran high. When Zach had talked with him, Kingston immediately joined his cause. He was all too familiar with the atrocities of both the Assassins and Templars in the affairs of the countries he fought in. Zach wasn’t sure whether it was his words or the sword that helped his claim to sway Kingston, but nevertheless, he had a valuable asset and eyes within the countries Kingston had performed well in.

“Yes, sir?” Kingston awaited an order.

“Your team is currently in Dubai, correct?” Zach asked, placing his sword on the table.

“Yes.”

“Assemble the twenty best men you have. I want them to gather at the rendezvous in California as soon as possible, but like I said, lay low. Spread the eyes around some of the cities, get a feel for the presences there. The rest of you will order your troops to take simple contracts under the radar so we can have a fair monetary flow for the next few weeks while we prepare.” Zach clarified.

“Sir, if I may ask, what’s the current long-term goal now that these events are in place? Has it changed at all from the original plans since we’ve had fallbacks?” A captain asked. A newer captain, Zach remembered this one.

Zach scoffed. He hated repeating himself, but he sighed and obliged the captain. “We still need to lure out my brother, for one, because he holds the key to the one thing that will end this war: an Apple of Eden. However, there are two keys that I need, but I already know who possesses the other. If things fall into place as I believe they will, I’ll have both keys and an Apple. The power of the Apple combined with my Sword here... The war will be over within a week.” Zach brushed his fingers lightly over the silver blade.

Of course, this was not a typical sword. This sword was wielded by numerous great leaders many, many eons ago, and was a true Sword of Eden that in Zach’s mind gave him the right to rule and carry out his conquest. People always seemed to listen better with that sword around, which was a typical effect of the Sword’s powers.

“The end goal isn’t going to be to eradicate both sides, correct? It was never made clear to me, I’m sorry sir.” The captain spoke up again.

“No. I’m afraid that outcome is impossible, except if I have that Apple combined with the two other keys. One to get me the Apple, and another to let me keep it. Of course, I won’t be the only one in power. All of you will have a say and a vote, but given my bloodline, I’m one of the few that’s able to wield those artifacts.”

 

\---  
\---

 

_“You can’t, I’m sorry.” Thomas slowly took the needle out of my arm, discarding the tip into the trash. I rubbed my sore forearm and furrowed my eyebrows at the man sitting next to me. Another failed attempt._

_“What do you mean? Anyone can go into the Animus. I’m from a pure line, dating back thousands of years--”_

_Thomas snapped his head back up at me. “It won’t work, how many times must I say it to you? Some blood doesn’t work within the Animus, that’s just how it is. You need to stop whining and start accepting things the way they are,” Thomas huffed and cleaned up, rolling his eyes as he worked. “What would the Mentor say, psh...”_

_“Mentor? What does he matter? You practically act like you’re Mentor anyway! Strutting around, ordering Master ranks like me around. We’re the same rank, or did you forget when you went rogue for how many years?” I snarled at him, climbing off the Animus. “I was the one who found that Piece of Eden in the desert, no thanks to you... Mentor would have let me keep it if it weren’t for you convincing him otherwise.”_

_“It was for the greater good. That sword is not meant to be in any of our hands, but much less the Templars’.” Thomas grunted, not bothering to look up at me._

_“It’s not even part of our ideals... Where does it say we can’t hold onto things we discover?”_

_“Nowhere, it’s just sense! God, you’re twenty-one but you act a twelve-year-old... How you keep thinking this dream of Mentorship is beyond me.”_

_“I’ll get Mentor rank, Thomas. Mark my words, I can be a leader. You might not believe in me, but the Mentor does.” I felt my fists clench. He was always like this._

_Thomas laughed with a wry grin, “You sound so stereotypical... This isn’t a movie where if you try hard enough you win and everything fixes itself. You don’t know a goddamn thing... Good luck, then. That’s all I can say. You also forget the Mentor comes to **me** for counsel, not you.”_

_“Counsel means nothing. I’m the one out there bringing the fight to those who wrong us! That means more than talking. Actions speak louder--”_

_“Than words, yes yes, you’re quite fond of saying that,” Thomas got up and stood a few inches over me, glaring as he rose his voice. “War creates war, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it, so stop living in your fantasy world and grow the hell up. You forget you only got to Master rank because of me, so stop thinking that any of this is somehow my fault. Blind hate will only lead you on a path to destruction. Don’t let blood ruin you.”_

_I kept my feet planted. His intimidating wouldn’t get to me. I felt my mouth curl into a grin. “Don’t let blood ruin **us** , brother. Blood before blood.”_

_Thomas sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment. I couldn’t tell whether he was feeling pity or had given up with me. I didn’t care anymore._

_“Yes. Blood before blood.”_

 

\---  
\---

 

Zach sighed.

“I want a world where there is no war. No sides, no choosing, no pointless back-and-forth skirmishes. This war between ideals has gone on long enough, and those who have tried to combine ideals or destroy both sides in the past have failed miserably. The only way we can achieve this goal, sadly, is through violence as things stand now. If there was another way to join together, I would do it in a heartbeat. In this world, however, in order to begin a new and better world, we must destroy its foundations and build it up again.” Zach explained, turning his chair around to look at the sunny courtyard area outside of the tudor home.

“I mean no disrespect, but then why did those innocents have to get hurt in Philadelphia?” He heard another captain ask. Zach was quick to reply.

“As I have said, it is a sad affair that we must use violence to achieve our goals, and yes, civilians will get in the way and get hurt. This act we have accomplished needed to be executed in the exact way it did, because we needed both sides to be attracted to the area, and the eyes I have in Philly had reported one of the keys had come into play. If both sides are distracted here on the East, then we can move our next operation elsewhere. I do not wish to kill innocent people at all, that is against what I stand for. But... that is a rule for the new world, not this one. This world is tainted by this war, and we must do _everything_ to end it, or it’ll be the destruction of the world entirely. Is that clear?” Zach turned his chair again, staring at each captain with an edge of challenge in his eyes.

“Yes, sir!” They saluted in unison.

“Excellent. You know what you have to do. Dismissed.”

The captains filed out of the room quickly, leaving the leader alone at his desk with his sword. A world without sides, a world where everyone knew their place and was happy in it... that was what he wanted. No corruption, no war, no sadness. A far-fetched idea for anyone born onto either side, but a very real outcome if given the right tools. And for Zach, his tools were hurtling towards him at the exact pace he wanted them to, whether they knew it or not. That’s what he had forgotten all those years. Tools.

The door broke the silence a few moments later.   
Veronica sauntered in late, her hands tucked into the pockets of a light zip up hoodie. “What’d I miss?” She asked, arching an eyebrow.

Zach rolled his eyes, spinning around in the chair and giving her a deep glare. _Typical Veronica,_ he thought to himself. She was damn lucky she was one of the most brilliant snipers he’d seen in his years of combat, and also had a rare trait of not being convinced by the Sword’s powers. It was annoying, to say the least.

“Seriously?” He started. “I don’t give you a salary to fuck around and miss meetings. Give me the report.” Zach gestured with hands open, awaiting a response.

“Give me a report... what?” She asked, not fazed in the slightest.

Zach stood up, not breaking his sight to her. “Report to me what you found in Philadelphia after you set off the charges. Or are you too busy dealing with Emily in that busy mind of yours?” He growled through gritted teeth, bringing his voice up to a higher malicious tone towards the end. Throwing Emily into the picture was quite the jab; Veronica’s old mind had plagued her recently, but with her new look came a new personality. One that wouldn’t fall to the same fate. 

Veronica sighed. “I guess you’re not in the mood to ask nicely. Anyway, Jet met with the Templar and the Kipling girl. As expected, Jet and the Templar almost killed each other, but they were stopped by the brat. Nothing really interesting to report about,” she stopped briefly before she remembered a certain detail. “Oh! She had some weird necklace. Didn’t really pay much attention to it until I noticed that it kinda… shines when there’s no light hitting it.”

“So she _does_ have it, huh? Hmm... That’s perfect.” Zach seemed to muse, sitting back down while setting the sword on the table. He looked off in thought. “And Jet still has Shapeshifter? I couldn’t think he’d be capable of ridding himself of the thing. Just curious though.”

This time, it was Veronica’s turn to roll her eyes. “He’s _alive_. Of course he still has Shapeshifter. Was that really a question?”

“Months ago, a report from one of our eyes told me he and a Mentor named Arctic had briefly severed the bond between him and Shapeshifter using another Piece of Eden, leaving him a vegetable for a time, until he and Shapeshifter eventually recovered and bonded again. It could have been possible that its effects changed, but they hadn’t. Good research for the future.”

“You and your ‘research’...” Veronica huffed boredly. Zach’s eyes flickered slightly at her.

“You don’t see me as your superior, do you?”

“To be fair, I didn’t treat the Assassin ‘Mentors’ much better,” She replied with a shrug, using air quotes around the mention of Mentors.

“No, no, I don’t want you to see me as your superior. You are your own person, after all. As everyone should be. However... when the question of loyalty comes into play, I must know that you’ll stick to one side.” His gaze flickered to her a bit accusingly.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Zach. I have too much fun blowing things up for you,” she said with a smirk, “Plus, you’re giving me the opening of a lifetime to make Jet’s life a living hell. Can’t put a price on that.”

Zach chuckled, “True. I wish things could have unfolded differently, I really do... but the Assassins and Templars have destroyed too much for anything to be repaired. You let me worry about Jet. You’ll have your fun too, don’t worry,” He sat back, arms behind his head, thinking deeply about the next move. “Meet with the others in California. I think they could use your expertise there. I’ll join shortly when I finish up matters on this coast and organize a few other captains and their soldiers. I think Thomas is at the LA den, too. I knew that’d interest you, at least.” Zach said after a few moments.

“So… nobody important or troubling, then?” Veronica asks rhetorically with a grin.

“At least _try_ to take things seriously while you’re there, would you? Anything else you need?” Zach sat back on his chair, stretching.

Veronica shook her head. “Nope,” she said as she made her way towards the door. She paused as she opened it, turning back to Zach. “It’s just me in here, by the way,” she said, pointing to her head. And with that, she walked out.

 

Zach knew a lie when he saw one.


	8. ACT 1: Chapter 7 - JON

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JON

 

Jon had hardly slept at all since the bombing of those buildings. After awhile, the scene was swarmed with FBI and other federal forces. He and his wife had relocated to the Hyatt Hotel near the Philadelphia Airport until he got word from his superiors of what to do next. _Stay safe, we will contact you,_ had been their message. He and Alana were sharing a room with Joshua North while Renley and her siblings shared a neighboring room. Natalya had been found alive nearby and was in the hospital recovering from wounds sustained in the blast. Neither Alana nor Joshua knew who or what Renley was connected to. Even Jon was still a little confused at everything that was going on. All he knew was that the Assassin called Jet was not a legend, but something he had to worry about. A corruptor. A threat. An Assassin. 

Two days after the detonation and he still had not received any word from Templar command besides the short message before. He met Renley at the hotel’s small café while Alana took the kids to the park. They weren’t exactly excited about it; the smaller boy seemed to cry the entire time Alana was getting them out of the door, whining about his mother. Renley seemed to be distant from them, even now.

Grief demands answers... but to a child, the answer is so much more complicated. 

“What the hell happened before?” The young woman hissed suddenly as a waitress put a cup of coffee in front of her. “That guy that confronted me... Jet I think his name was... who’s he, and why do you seem to know him?” Jon did not know how to answer that. _She’s not part of this_ , he thought. _I don’t owe her anything, she can just leave all of this_. But something told Jon that she would not accept that.

“Jet is,” Jon started, pausing to explain it to her. “… Part of a radical group, they’re sort of like anarchists. They do not want any law or order and believe that man’s natural existence is lawless. They’ll do anything to get what they want, including harming your siblings and hurting you. They killed people in that blast because they believe that they are right,” Renley was silently glaring over her untouched coffee. “That’s why they probably blew up the hotel, you can’t trust Jet’s word. He was probably lying to cover his tracks... he’s a devil at keeping a lie going.” He continued. He had to suppress a smile at how easy the words (and hypocrisy) were coming to him. Renley slowly nodded. 

“And they want me?” Renley asked finally. Jon bit his lip. 

“We don’t know what they want with you yet,” Jon said. “But don’t worry. I can keep you safe, I work with a lot of powerful people.”

“What should we do next? Wherever I go, my family does too.” Renley sipped her coffee. A server took their empty plates without bothering them. Jon shrugged in an answer to Renley.

“You’re currently under 18. Unless you have any family to take you in, it’s the foster system,” Jon admitted. She shook her head quickly.

“No! They’ll just split us up! We need to stay together,” she said defiantly. There was no one for her save Jet. _But he’s dangerous_. “I can find a way to keep my family safe. I promise I won’t be a burden on you.” She shifted in her chair, revealing a necklace. Hanging from the simple black rope was a little, pale gold sliver that caught Jon’s eye.

“Interesting necklace,” he noted. Now he understood why she might be a target.

“Oh this?” She absentmindedly toyed with the little stone. He knew First Civilization relics when he saw them and that was one beyond a reasonable doubt. _So she has Jet’s blood and a Piece of Eden?_ Jon thought. _Interesting_. “It was a gift from my dad when I was little. He worked for the government... one day he went to work, next... nothing. This is all I can remember him with. God, that sounds so stupid saying it out loud... not like you could possibly help me.” She let the conversation end there. Jon smiled a little.

“Actually, I think I can help you. You see my organization, Abstergo... well, we’re very interested in genealogies amongst other things,” Jon explained. He leaned in. “Have you ever heard of an Animus?” She should have. Personal gaming Animi were quite popular. She shrugged.

“I’ve heard of it but I don’t really know what it is,” she replied. “I’m not so tech savvy. Besides, we never had much money for stuff like that.”

“Well, Abstergo invented the Animus. It’s like a computer but it takes a bit of your DNA from your blood. You see, our DNA is made up building blocks passed down to you from generation to generation, stretching all the way back to the very first humans who pulled themselves from the caves. What the Animus does is allow us to see those ancestors,” She nodded as Jon explained more, “Take me for instance. I had an ancestor alive during the American Civil War who was an industrialist in the North. The Animus would allow me to go back and see his life. We can go back and make video games, movies, television shows, even music out of the past.”

“And let me guess... You want me to get into this Animus?” Renley asked. _Clever girl_. “And do you often ask seventeen year old girls to participate in experiments?” Jon shook his head with an amused smirk.

“We can make you legally an adult. You’d be able to stay with your family too,” Jon said before she made any new accusations. She still didn’t look convinced. “And we would put you up in a place to stay. You ever been to Manhattan? We can get you an apartment there, right next to a park for the kids.” She tried to hide a small smile. _Homerun_.

“Okay. But I want a sit down with these people. Don’t think I’m just going to lie down on some bed and let a bunch of creeps stick pins in me.” Renley shot. Jon nodded. 

“Of course,” he said. “We can go over all the details. I can even get a lawyer for you if you’d like.”

Renley still crossed her arms and zoned out, thinking it seemed. Jon knew this was probably hard on her, but she was strong. Probably dealing with the trauma on the inside... he made a mental note to have Abstergo get her and her siblings a therapist of sorts once they arrived. That thought skipped to the back of his head as he then thought about business, and the necklace Renley had. _No doubt her father was in the Brotherhood, I’ve never heard of a Kipling in our ranks... But the Assassins? I can remember a few... Why would he give a little girl such an ancient artifact? Perhaps the thought of her losing it as children do put his mind at ease away from the toils of war stealing it... But now he just put her in this world of danger. Maybe he wanted her to seek out the Assassins when she came of age. I must put a stop to that, at any cost._

Later, Jon called Laetitia and told her about Renley and her connection to Jet. He also explained the run-in they had after the explosion and Jet’s interest in her. But he left out her necklace. He told himself he would keep it secret for his own maneuvers-- they could use it to attract Jet or as a bargaining chip. Something deep inside him wouldn’t do it though because she was troubled. The information Burbank had forwarded on her said that she had spent most of her life with her mother, a frequenter of the Philadelphia free clinics and known drug abuser. Her father had not appeared on any record, but her stepfather had. _It’s the only thing she has of him_.

When his wife had returned from the park, Renley took her siblings and put them to bed while Jon and Alana caught up. 

“She’s 17, so the only thing she could really do is go into the foster program,” Jon explained quickly. “But I promised to get her emancipated if she were to sign on for some Animi tests at Abstergo.” Alana did not like that answer.

“I don’t know Jon, that seems dangerous,” she said warily. Jon shrugged.

“I know people who can get her emancipated much quicker. And we’ll pay for an apartment where they can live in the city, and get a tutor for the kids,” Jon replied. Alana bit her lip in thought.

“And I’ll get a lawyer to make sure they get the best deal out of this,” Jon finished. His wife finally nodded.

“Okay. As long as you don’t put those kids in danger,” she said. Jon kissed his wife on the cheek.

“Don’t worry,” he replied. “I won’t.”

They checked out the next day after a hearty breakfast, and they piled into Jon’s BMW for the drive up to New York.

“You’ll love Manhattan!” Alana said from the passenger seat up front. Jon nodded and noticed Renley was smiling for the first time since he met her. The kids were silent, still dealing with all the change happening around them.

Several hours later they arrived in New York. Joshua took Alana back to their apartment across the river while Jon showed Renley and her siblings to their temporary home. It was a standard Brooklyn apartment located in an old factory nestled in Bushwick. Four rooms were cut out of the wide-open floor as well as an expansive kitchen, two bathrooms and a living room with a large television. 

“Well?” Jon asked. “What do you think?” There were enough rooms for each of Renley’s siblings as well as herself. The kitchens were stocked with minimal essentials for Templar agents who needed a rest. A safehouse of sorts, for those on the job who didn’t want the extravagancy of Abstergo’s main building. He had put in a call to Laetitia that he would need the Bushwick safehouse clear of anyone for a few days. Renley looked a little confused, as if this meticulously cared-for apartment was something new to her.

“Its…great,” she stammered. Her face quickly hardened to a serious one. “But what’s the catch? What are you up to?” She held up her arms to mean the whole apartment.

“No catch,” Jon shrugged. “Remember? You’re going to help me with the Animus.”

“What does that matter? You just _give_ me an apartment in Brooklyn and act like there’s no catch! Like you don’t want something from me!” She hissed. Her siblings were in the other rooms, one of them laughing, probably the older one cheering up the smaller ones. A horrified look spread across her face. “Oh, I see what’s happening here!”

“What are you defensive about? Like I said, you’re going to help me.” Jon asked alarmed. _This can’t all fall apart now_. She pointed an accusatory finger at him.

“You want me to have sex with you!” She exclaimed suddenly. Jon furiously shook his head.   
“After all your wife has done for me and my family, you want me to fuck you because you give us an apartment! Well we don’t need you and your company for help! What are you, like fucking forty, anyway? I’m seventeen, you fucking creep!” She sounded furious, but under all that, a little bit of emotional pain was showing through her eyes. This confused Jon. Perhaps something had happened in her past that made her assume such a ridiculous notion. He prayed not. _What a hot-headed girl... no wonder she has a bit of Jet in her blood. Still, to assume such a ridiculous notion! What nerve!_

“Listen to me!” Jon hissed. She stepped back a bit, sensing his fury. “I’m not trying to sleep with you, I would _never_ , I’m married for Christ’s sake. I’ll get you a sit down with Abstergo R&D, they’ll work out the details with you. They can pay you, get a tutor and babysitter for your siblings, and you all can build a proper life here.” Renley did not seem altogether satisfied with Jon’s persistence, but she bit her lip and considered her options, looking at the floor. _Go ahead and wander New York City with three young children and no money,_ Jon thought viciously. _See what happens_.

 

“If I work with you, and I get paid, would we be able to keep this apartment?” She asked finally. Jon honestly had no idea about that. Abstergo would probably pay her enough to keep her with them, especially with her connection, but he doubted that they would pay her enough to afford this apartment long-term. Of course, the Templars had paid off this apartment ten times over. _There are other safehouses in the city,_ he thought.

Jon merely smiled in response. “I suppose so.” Renley’s anger returned to a grateful smile and she thanked Jon. _Weird moodswing. Perhaps that also runs in their blood._

“I’ll come by tomorrow morning to take you over to Abstergo,” Jon informed her. He pulled a twenty dollar bill out and placed it next to the landline phone. _Untraceable phone, of course_. He grabbed a pen and wrote a local number. “I suggest Mac’s Pizza. Best damn pizza in Brooklyn!” Renley nodded at him.

“Thank you Mr. Connington,” she said. “Sorry about that whole, you know, accusing you of trying to sleep with me.” Jon waved it away. He feared that response was a little too natural for her, and felt pity.

“Please, call me Jon,” the Templar said, opening the door. “You and I will do great things together. I promise.” The door closed behind him with a soft click. He started toward the elevator and felt his phone vibrate. It was Laetitia.

“Yes?” Jon answered.

“I trust you have some information for us on this Renley woman,” Laetitia stated. It was not a question, but a veiled threat masked as a statement.

“We still have to get in her into the damn Animus. But I think the results will be good,” Jon said. The elevator opened and Jon stepped in. “I’ll forward the results to you as soon as possible.”

“Yes, do so. Send me the preliminary reports once you have something,” the Templar woman replied.

“Of course,” Jon said with a thin smile on his face. “I won’t let you down.”


	9. ACT 1: Chapter 8 - JET

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\---

 

JET

 

Much like the weather in rural Pennsylvania, the city of Manhattan was experiencing beautiful, sunny skies in the afternoon, and many were out and about. People were either on their way to lunch, to meet up with friends, head to work, or to simply just go for a walk. However, for the hot-headed Assassin who had been framed recently, he was underneath the city, regaling his other comrades about the situation he had experienced the day before.

Jet paced around the underground Assassin den of Manhattan in the lounge area, obviously rambling over-exaggeratedly as Jet tended to do once his annoyance had reached a certain level. That level, of course, was quite low.

“So then this guy... Jon or whatever, he’s a Master Templar, right? So I tried to jump him for some information--”

“You attacked a Master Templar in broad daylight?” The British Mentor, Adam, sat cross-armed, an eyebrow raised. The Mentor looked to be a simple man, save for the multiple scars that adorned his body. Same as Jet, and same as any Assassin higher-up.

“Listen, I knew something was up, and I had the element of surprise on my side! I wasn’t gonna kill him, just so you know...” Jet waved his hand dismissively, his Manhattan accent whirling up from within him. While Jet and Adam were like brothers, they tended to argue quite a lot. 

Mason, the strong-jawed cousin of Jet, made a loud scoff at Jet’s defense to cut him off.

“Yeah, Jet, the guy who would _never_ kill a Templar for no reason.” Mason chuckled sarcastically, nudging Adam, who tilted his head at Jet. He knew all too well about Jet's sheer distaste of Templars. Jet had been a subject of Abstergo, after all. 

Mason and Jet also had a strange relationship, Mason being the only close family Jet had left, and the same basically went for Mason. Cousins by blood, brothers by choice. These two constantly butted heads, more-so than Jet and Adam.

“Okay, okay, whatever! I almost killed him, but only because he wouldn’t listen to what I had to fuckin’ say!” Jet tried to defend himself, only making him more riled.

“Oh, yes... I’d totally listen to you if you suddenly attacked me in an alleyway.” Mason gave Jet a deadpan stare, while Adam was the one to start chuckling. Jet’s hands curled into fists.

“Will you two listen to me?! I almost killed him, but then this chick randomly showed up, and when she heard who I was, she just attacked me! She had a little brother or whatever that shouted at us and we stopped, and he told us to follow, and he showed us all the news, and I saw they captured... well, they _thought_ they captured me. There was something about that chick, too. Her name... It was Renley. She didn’t tell me a last name though.” Jet explained, stopping to chew his lip in thought.

Something about Renley’s name had struck Jet at the time, but he couldn’t place it. It bothered Jet a lot that he couldn’t remember, because Jet had a knack for having a near-perfect memory. Maybe her name was shared by someone he knew growing up. He had been through a lot of schools and families in his life, and Renley was one of those “every now and then” names that would kind of stick out.

“I could do some research on it, if it bothers you. The thing that I’m curious about is why Jon was with this girl. How old was she?” Adam asked.

“Couldn’t be older than eighteen. If you ask me, she looked about fifteen. Could be wrong. Short girl, too, and kind of boney. You’re right, I... actually didn’t think about that. Why was Jon escorting around this girl? Yeah, do some research, if you wouldn’t mind.” Jet said, eyebrows furrowed as he stared at a point in space, wondering.

“Maybe she was a victim in the attack? Or maybe had Templar connections? Might be likely she’s just one of his relatives.” Mason shrugged, offering his input.

“I don’t think so, she seemed... not very well-off? She was just wearing a ratty t-shirt and ripped up jeans, and I don’t think she was the type of girl that wanted to dress like that. Could be wrong, though. Girls are weird.” Jet huffed.

“Says you,” Mason smirked, but one rather pained look from Jet shut him right up. “Sorry, you know I didn’t mean it in that way...” He looked away.

“It’s fine,” Jet exhaled lightly. He couldn’t let that bother him anymore, but it still did, and he feared it always would. _Why would he say something like that... he knows it still hurts. Gah, shut up, Jet! Get over it!_

The pain of losing someone was a familiar emotion for Jet, a scar even, but the pain of losing someone he had grown to truly love and care for... it wasn’t a scar, it was a bleeding wound that refused to heal. Jet’s rampant mind never let him heal. He could still hear her voice off in the distance sometimes. That voice used to be his way to hear her again and provided an escape, but now, it just prolonged the bleeding.

Mason looked at him concernedly. “Look Jet, you should really talk to someone if you’re still--”

“I said it’s fine!” Jet snapped, lips pulled back in a snarl. “It’s fine. Jesus.” Red in the face over his own outburst, he crossed his arms again and looked away. 

Mason and Adam exchanged a look when Jet wasn’t looking.

“Come on Adam, I want to see what we’re dealing with here.” Jet nodded to Adam in a low voice, flicking his shoulder to signal him to follow. He made a few steps before he heard his cousin’s voice behind him again.

“Hey! You’ve got recruits in the gym!” Mason shouted after him, pointing towards the gym doors that connected to the lounge.

“Take over for me, would you? This is important.” Jet said to Mason flatly, a hint of authoritative annoyance in his tone.

“Fine, fine.” Mason sighed, getting up and heading into the gym, where the recruits were doing running exercises.

Jet and Mason jointly ran the Manhattan den, even though the Mentors, the highest ranking Assassins, liked to visit and live here often. Mason had lived here for years, even before the den had been raided about four years ago and had been almost completely demolished. Mason had fixed up the portion they use today, but most of the old den lies in ruins they call the “Broken Tunnels” because the structure of the den was similar to a maze. When Mason had gone on a long vacation away from the war when things had cooled down, Jet had started to train new recruits for the Brotherhood at this den, and began running it by himself for a time. 

There was a period months back where Jet’s mental health started to decline and he fell out of power briefly. That was when the second attack on the Manhattan den happened, as proved by the barely-covered scorch marks on some of the walls and furniture.

Jet brushed past one of the scorch marks, shuddering with a flare of anger whenever he saw one. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t there to protect his brothers, and they paid the price.

_Veronica_... He thought, _You did this._ Or was it her? 

“ _If you think it wasn’t her, then how come the fingerprints used to get in here were a one-hundred percent match?_ ” He heard the Mentor Thomas’ voice break through his thoughts as he remembered the realization of the event.

Adam walked up behind Jet finally, putting a hand on his shoulder briefly. “We’ll go to my room,” he said before brushing past him.

Jet followed the Mentor, standing a few inches taller than his superior but keeping a few paces behind him at all times. Jet was ambitious, but never sought to have the same role Adam had. Too much pressure, he had said to himself. Even so, Jet and Adam had few times where they had seen eye-to-eye. In Jet’s words, Adam was a soft-hearted leader who was fit for a lesser role, but not Mentor. Nevertheless, Jet obeyed in the end. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to lie his allegiances, and Adam had proved many times to be a reliable friend.

Being the tech wizard of the Assassins, Adam’s room in the den was towards the far end of the repaired rooms, half of it covered in wires and bits of various projects he was working on or tinkering with. He hopped onto a swivelling chair in front of three different monitors, while Jet pulled up a wooden chair from the other desk and sat backwards on it, folding his arms over the backrest as he watched boredly. Adam tended to get off-topic easily, and Jet was still tired from his trip.

“Alright...So, Renley... no last name you said? I’ll just search in the Philadelphia region...” He clicked a few words onto the keyboard while Jet rubbed his tired face with his hand. This could get excruciating fast. He didn’t know what was worse: helping out a disabled old woman with the basics of a computer or hearing Adam spout his technical garbage at a million miles per second.

“Anything?” Jet asked after a few mouse-clicks.

Adam breathed. “Damn... Yeah, Mason was right. Renley Kipling is her full name. Lived at the same apartment that blew up. No wonder she attacked you, in her mind at the time, you had destroyed her home.” Adam explained. _Oof, ouch... now I get it._

“Mmm... still, I feel like I should know her from somewhere. Could just be my normal paranoia though.” Jet grunted, slumping forward even more.

“Are you taking your medication every day?” Adam abruptly turned and raised an eyebrow like a father who was checking if his son was high or not.

“Yeah, _Dad_. Of course. I can’t function properly without them anymore, you know that.” Jet growled. The young man was on an assemblage of medication, namely antipsychotics to treat his schizophrenia he lived with, among a few other disorders. Thomas had told him it was a miracle they even still let him fight with all that was wrong with him. _Pity, probably. But they shouldn’t pity something like me. Pity is weakness in place of reality._

Adam rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay. No need to get snippy. Let me look around the database, maybe she’s connected to something Templar-related...” 

Jet rested his head on the backrest of the chair again, his arms forming a pillow. He didn’t realize how tired he was until he was in such a dimly-lit room and the only sound was a softly-clicking keyboard. A few minutes of shut-eye wouldn’t hurt...

\---  
\---

_"You're an idiot, Jet..." She said, stumbling back to the open bar and taking another drink._

_"How much d-did you drink?" I asked, looking at her bottle as I sauntered over._

_"I don't know... hehehehe... like... thiiiis much!" She laughed, motioning to the bottle, which was 3/4 gone._

_"Daaammn, girl, you ain't a lightweight, that's for sure," I whistled, eyebrows raised._

_"Well, this girl is Russian!" She boasted, putting a thumb to her chest._

_"I'm Russian too! We have soooo much in common..." I say exaggeratedly, letting the words just slip off at this point. I was getting to the point where I just said shit without even thinking it over. Oh fuck, this was not going to be good._

_"If you would be less mean, we could be friends..." She said, looking rather sad as she started absently picking the sticker off of the bottle._

_"I'm sorry for bein' mean to you... I don't really mean it, I just kinda like... I don't know." I slurred, not even knowing what to say. Something in me was sure I needed to comfort her though._

_"I know you're not all bad... you can be nice." She said, smiling and looking at me. Her eyes were really pretty... prettier than before? Was that possible? What? This is embarrassing._

_"I'm nice to the people I like," I finally said, elbows on the bar to get closer._

_"You must hate me, then!" She scoffed, a smile on her face as she spun away from me on the stool with the bottle._

_"Oh, I absolutely hate you, princess." I said sarcastically, smiling as well._

_"You want some now, hotshot?" She spun back over to the bar, giggling as she swayed the bottle of tequila in front of me tantalizingly._

_"They say you shouldn't mix drinks." I mumbled, biting my lip as I was tempted to drink it anyway._

_"Just a taste, then."_

_Without warning, she reached for my collar and pulled me across the bar into a kiss. It didn't register until about... five seconds in? Yeah, I could definitely taste the tequila... Soft lips, too._

_She pulled away, pushing me back into my stool, giggling madly again as she tipped her bottle back again. I prayed my face wasn't as red as it felt; even without the kiss my face got pretty red when I was drunk._

_"Where'd that come from?" I snickered, now feeling a little more confident as I took another sip of my drink. I should probably stop soon._

_"Oh you know...You're funny. Your face looks like a-a-a tomato!" She exclaimed, then slapped her knee in amusement, laughing so hard she almost fell to the floor._

_Well, shit, my face was apparently pretty red, and the realization of such probably just made it more-so._

_"Uhh... I think you're done." I said, laughing as I walked behind the counter and grabbed the bottle from her._

_"Noooo... there's still some left..." She whined, trying to drunkenly grab the bottle from me, but I held it at a distance from her. There was still about 1/5 left._

_"Neither of us will drink it, okay? We gotta... uh... we gotta... were we supposed to do somethin'?" I asked, drawing a blank._

_"We gotta make the penthouse go 'booooom'!" She squeaked, her hands animating an explosion._

_"Oooh yeah. Come on, we should go." I said, grabbing her hand._

_"Noooo... let's watch a movie!" She pulled my hand back._

_"We can't, we gotta go before the Shanghai police get us, remember? Christ, you don’t even know what continent we’re on..." I rolled my head around in amusement, pulling her too._

_"Ooookay... are you... are you too drunk to drive?" She asked quizzically as we walked out. She was practically hanging off of me now, hands grabbing whatever fabric of me she could cling to._

_"I'm completely.... Fine. Lessgo! We gotta put you at the airport to go home." I said, disguising a belch behind a fist. God I felt like a mess..._

_"You're not flying home with meeee?" She whined as we kept almost tripping down the flights of stairs._

_"No, I have work to do up north. I’m sure I’ll see ya again... what, you gonna miss me that quickly?” I scoffed._

_“I dunno! I might. You’re way more fun than those other Assassins...” She grabbed a fistful of my shirt to keep herself steady. I stayed more quiet after that, fearful I would say something completely dumb._

_The flights of stairs seem endless, especially to my inebriated mind. Down, down, down, around, down, down..._

_"Jet.... Can you carry me?" Emily whined finally, taking her shoes off. I knew how drunk she must be if she was seriously giving up her own independence to let me do something for her._

_"Oh, anything for you, princess." I rolled my eyes, but allowed myself to give her a piggyback the rest of the way down._

_"I wish you could be this nice all the time." She whispered tiredly into my ear, her arms wrapping around my neck._

_“I do too...” I said for some reason, exhaling softly._

_I let out another deep sigh as we finally exited the building. Emily managed to click the top of her pen, and we walked away without a second expression as the top of the building burst into flames._

 

\---  
\---

 

“Jet! Jet, wake up, you dolt!” Adam nudged Jet in the shoulder after some time the young man had drifted off. 

_God... three fucking years and I still have those dreams... those memories..._

“Huh?” Jet lifted his head, blinking himself awake. Adam pointed to the screen of the middle monitor, showing an Abstergo logo in the upper right-hand corner.

“I hacked into the Abstergo database, but was only given about one minute before it got blocked up again... God, their defenses get better each time... but look! There’s a whole file on Renley.” He explained all in an excited British jumble as Jet squinted at the bright screen.

On the screen, a list of names popped up, all showing their current location, age, affiliation, etc. Adam had highlighted the one with Renley Kipling on it, a file opening up on the right-hand monitor.

“Encrypted,” Jet repeated what the file had plastered across the page. Dammit, another dead end.

“These other files for these other people on the list... all fine and working. Most of them are just names of people who beta-tested Animi or were business associates with Abstergo, but why would Renley be on there if it wasn’t something important, especially if they took the time to encrypt it?” Adam asked mainly himself, thinking.

Jet’s thoughts were buzzing too, even through the haze of sleepiness. “This concerns me. I think Jon is up to something; he acted very paranoid about me, and I don’t think it was about me attacking him. It felt like he was protecting Renley-- I could just sense it from him. Could be wrong, though. If this is the case, she could be here in New York.” Jet said, now trying to construct other plans to find her.

“We are _not_ using our resources to break into Abstergo to rescue her, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Adam warned. They’d already broken into Abstergo once before, and that was to rescue Jet himself. Oh yes, Jet knew all too well about Abstergo Headquarters...

“No, no. That’d be stupid... I just fear about what Jon might have been hiding from me about her. I feel like there’s more to her. Perhaps she has First Civilization blood, like us.” Jet wondered.

“It’s very possible. They’d want that information very tightly-kept if that’s the case. I can try to gather more info, but I really think you should rest. You’ve had a long couple of days.” Adam said, leaning back on his chair to stretch. 

Jet stood up and stretched too, yawning loudly. “Yeah, I think you’re right. Thanks for the help or whatever.”

“No problem.” Adam said simply, already clicking away at his computer again.

The sleepy Assassin exited the room, mind still distracted by the prospect of this new girl he had met. There was still something about her that Jet couldn’t place, but he decided he’d focus on that after he had gotten some much-needed rest.

Ignoring the brown-haired ghost of _her_ that always lingered in the corner of his bedroom, he collapsed into bed and fell back asleep quickly. As usual, she called out to him and tried to touch his shoulder and waist, but he let her sink to the recesses of his mind until the only noise was the distant sound of the subway system.

Months ago, it had been such a task for him to find sleep while she lingered in every space of his vision, and every corner of his ears. 

Time had made him numb.

He did not dream again that night.


	10. ACT 1: Chapter 9 - RENLEY

\---  
\---

 

RENLEY

 

Renley wasn’t used to this kind of luxury and freedom. Her own bed, her own room, her own bathroom and mirror... She had tried a dozen times to attempt to snap herself out of the dream she had to be having. Even if it was a dream, she decided, she might as well make the best of it. 

In the bathroom mirror, the girl tied back her brown hair into her usual ponytail before washing her face and brushing her teeth, trying to add in as much normalcy as she could. These attempts at instituting a sense of “normal” only got better as Leila yelled for Renley from the adjacent room, followed by Jack and Theo running around and touching everything in the apartment.

“Hey! This place isn’t ours, be careful!” Renley warned the two brothers with a finger pointed at them. One annoyed “hey” from Renley was usually enough to make them stop in their tracks, mostly since if Renley was annoyed, it was likely their mother or god forbid, their father was going to be upset too. This behavior was ingrained in them, this feeling of fear for adults. At least for Theo, that is. Jack was the outgoing one, while Theo, the youngest brother, was very quiet most of the time.

“Sorry... What’s for breakfast?” Jack threw a pillow on the couch before flopping on it, followed by Theo, climbing onto Jack’s back.

“I’ll figure out something, gimme a sec.” Renley left the two siblings in the living room, fetching the third and youngest one from her room.

Leila sat up in her bed, clutching a stuffed bear that was almost the size of her. Alana had given the bear to Leila since the little girl was scared to sleep alone since she had grown up sleeping in the same bed as Renley. She had thought it would be good for her to start learning to sleep on her own.

“Did you sleep okay, sweetheart?” Renley asked softly, sitting beside Leila on the bed.

“Mmhm! Bear kept me safe.” She smiled, hugging the stuffed animal.

“C’mon, let’s get some breakfast.” Renley picked up Leila in one arm, carrying the stuffed bear in the other after Leila insisted that the stuffed animal had to have some breakfast too.

And so, the new family sat at the table a little while later after Renley had cooked some eggs and toast for them all (and a little extra for Leila’s bear). Shortly after, the younger siblings all crowded around the flat screen TV, gasping at how amazing it was to their eyes.

Renley chuckled at their amazement, only because they were so enthralled with the current channel, which happened to be professional golf. She found it intriguing how many people above the lower class would probably take all of this for granted. Renley even found herself staring at the stainless steel refrigerator for quite some time, before a knock was heard on the door.

**Knock, knock.**

“I’LL GET IT!” All four of them sounded at once, but while the two boys tripped over each other and Leila struggled to even get to her feet, Renley was already bounding to the door. 

“Stay put!” She put a hand up to keep them back while she slowly opened the door.

Jon and Alana stood in the hall, smiling. “Good morning! How is everyone?” Jon asked cheerily.

“Great! You can come in, if you’d like.” Renley offered, returning the gratitude.

Jon waved off the offer. “I’m afraid we don’t have time, you need to come with me for the day so we can begin the research I had told you about. No worries though, Alana’s going to watch your brothers and sister.”

Alana gave a reassuring grin before Renley allowed her inside, and immediately Renley saw her sibling’s faces light up. They associated Alana with “the woman who had rescued them” after the explosions. Renley was happy they had an older woman they could actually trust for once... but did Renley trust her? She had to. She had a debt to pay and Alana genuinely seemed to be happy to babysit...

“Alana!” Jack grinned, immediately hugging her. She laughed as the kids basically bombarded her with hugs before retreating back to the couch.

“Alright, I’ve got a nice treat. I brought some cool movies you guys would like...” Alana said, pulling out a pack of movies from her bag. Renley recognized most of them as Disney classics that she had only seen once or twice total due to their lack of entertainment growing up. She was happy that her little siblings could be able to have a little piece of a normal childhood through those movies, at least for a small while.

This reaction gave Renley all the reassurance she needed. The kids needed someone like Alana, someone who would be more a mother to them than Renley could be. Family was a difficult and confusing thing, but Alana was what everyone needed right now.

She nodded to Jon, “Let’s go, then.” 

 

\---  
\---

 

“Alright, what do you see?” Renley heard Jon’s voice seemingly from the back of her head, like he was talking from another side of a large room behind her.

The Animus loading screen was strange, at least for this model, which was supposed to be some prototype that was more immersive. At least, that’s what Jon had explained. In front of her was a digitalized opaque blue room that extended whenever she took a step forward.

“It’s like I’m in a digital version of a super clean hospital room? Ugh, that makes no sense does it...” She said, and her voice came out like she was talking through a cone of sorts, muffled and distant.

“Looks like you’re all good, actually. The memories are booting up. I’m going to give you a rundown on what you’re gonna be helping us with in just a second,” Jon explained, and Renley heard a distant tapping on a keyboard.

She looked at her hands for a few seconds, which swayed and seemed less solid than her real organic form. It was like she was put into one of those fancy video games that she never got to play but heard others talk about. Her heart heated up with excitement and anxiousness at the possibilities ahead of her.

Jon had explained the basics of the Animus to her, since Renley was unfamiliar with technology in general. It was a device where one could replay memories of their ancestors and act them out, but they’re required to stay within certain parameters. Actions in the Animus don’t actually change the timeline, they’re just to play around in, he said. If you do something weird or go somewhere your ancestor never went though, the Animus isn’t capable of handling it and you’d be desynchronized. It used blood as its fuel, which Renley wasn’t happy about since she hated needles, but once she was put under she couldn’t even feel it at all.

“Alright, so we’re starting in 1476 in Florence, Italy. You have an important ancestor named Ignazio Auditore, who was the elusive cousin of another man, a man named Ezio Auditore. We’ve already done extensive research before on Ezio using a different volunteer, but... it was very strange. After that volunteer left, we noticed certain memories didn’t seem quite right, like there was something else hidden behind these memories. Records have erased many parts of Ignazio’s history, so it was hard to find someone with the proper blood to get into his memories. What we believed had happened was that something in Ignazio’s past triggered something in the Animus that made all records of him disappear, though this might also be one of our er... our competitors’ doing... it’s all political really, I won’t get too much into it. But Ignazio... we had a volunteer for him awhile back too, and we found out that the previous volunteer... his entire timeline was a lie, or at least changed from actual reality. Most of Ignazio’s memories are still locked, it seems though...” Jon explained rather quickly, then seemed to be perplexed over something. Renley thought his words were strange, and rather confusing. Perhaps on purpose...

“Still locked? You mean someone else has gone through this, like those volunteers?” Renley asked.

“Yes, but it’s classified information. He was called Subject 21-- we call the volunteers “Subjects” for clarity-- but he left us due to an emergency within his family. Had really pure blood, too. Your blood is good for this as well, it’s just that there’s no new memories like I expected, it’s almost all the same one’s we’ve seen... Except for a few towards the end... hmmm...” Jon rambled off into thought it seemed. Special attention seemed to be around the name “Subject 21” that intrigued Renley, but she thought better than to ask. Perhaps she’d just find out later, she thought. What was more interesting to her was this ancestor he spoke of.

“Explain Ignazio; I’m confused here. What’s so special about some old dead Italian?” Renley snorted slightly, walking around the digital room.

She heard Jon chuckle. “Alright, I’ll let you in on a little secret, but you can’t tell anyone,” His voice lowered, but there was a slight edge to it, as if one might think he wasn’t serious or explaining a white lie to a child. “There’s these artifacts I mentioned that the government has tasked some of us with discovering. These artifacts were held by some members in people’s pasts, but have been long hidden. If they were found, they could be properly researched and we might even change the course of how we understand history. There’s a lot of money at stake, so that’s why it’s so important. They’re said to have strange properties to them, probably some sort of chemical or whatnot.”

Renley thought about this while she paced inside the digital room. She didn’t know much of anything about old artifacts or chemicals... Jon could have said anything there and she’d be too ignorant to know. She decided since he was the scientist here he knew what he was talking about. Whatever, she had a home and her family was safe. She’d do practically anything by now.

“Okay, so I’m looking for these artifact things. Ignazio had one? Also, will I be getting a share of this government money or whatever?” She was only half-joking about that one.

“Haha, of course you’ll get a share. And yes, Ignazio had one of these artifacts. Ezio came into contact with one too. Ignazio’s and Ezio’s timelines are parallel many times in these memories, which is why having Ignazio’s parts erased with that first volunteer was so strange. You see, we _know_ they had these artifacts, but towards the end of their memories, their artifacts’ places of rest get muddy. The last subject couldn’t access the last memories that explains valuable things about the artifacts’ places of rest. You, however, seem to have slightly stronger blood. I think if you run through a few memories beforehand you’ll be able to do this. The memories selected will highlight important things about Ignazio, since it’s important to understand him before moving on. If I just plopped you into the final memories, the Animus might not read it properly and malfunction. Just one thing, though...”

“What is it?”

“Don’t believe what Ezio or Ignazio might believe in or say. They were part of a... cult of types that murdered people in the supposed ‘name of freedom’. Do not believe their ideals.” Jon seemed very stressed about this point.

“Why would I believe someone who murdered people for any such ideal? Hm... And here I was thinking the Renaissance period was going to be a boring cakewalk like it was in my History classes.” Renley said confidently, excited to see the capabilities of technology she was never exposed to. 

“You’d be surprised...” Renley was a little confused at why Jon sounded so tired when he said that. “You ready?”

“Wait, how do I control my movements? Just like I am now?” Renley asked.

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot. In a normal Animus, you would, but in this prototype, you’re going to also feel the emotions and actions play out for you. Basically, just sit back and relax. It’ll be like an extremely immersive movie. Sorry, but it’ll cause less distraction this way and be much quicker. You just have to have a quick eye and mind for things, and you’re allowed to talk, but Ignazio won’t speak as you. Talk to me if you have questions or think you see something odd.”

“Okay. I’m ready.” Renley gulped, the nervousness setting in. Jon seemed to pick up on that.

“Nothing to be worried about. If anything goes wrong in the slightest, you’ll be pulled out. Nobody has ever died in an Animus, it’s impossible.”

Renley took a deep breath before Jon typed into a keyboard.

“Alright, first memory. 1476, Florence. This memory is the beginning of Ignazio’s journey, per se. It’s when he and Ezio’s timelines begin to run parallel.”

 

The scene in front of Renley began to slowly turn from an opaque crystal blue into sheer yellows and golds.

“Entering memory,” Jon’s voice rang out, “Three, two...”

 

His voice drowned out as Renley herself was drowned in the sea of color breaking free before her.


	11. ACT 1: Chapter 10 - IGNAZIO

IGNAZIO

\---

This was it. Maybe it was the familiar warm air, or perhaps it was the fact that he could finally find out where and how his family dropped off the face of the earth almost eight years ago. _It's been Hell, but you made it,_ He told himself, slowing his eager pace as he went to sit down next to a circular well in the middle of the bumbling square. Quaintly-dressed patrons of all shapes and sizes littered the square, either huddled in the latest gossip or off to the market or a friend’s home.

A beautiful sunny day, the right temperature... A cool breeze sifted through the young boy's chestnut brown hair as his eyes of a similar color filtered through the crowd of people. He pulled a black hood over his head to combat the wind and keep himself more anonymous. Not that anyone was searching for him, he just absolutely _hated_ being in large groups of people. But here, perhaps it wasn’t so bad. Not like anyone would recognize him anymore... He was as good as dead to the few that knew him. Erased in the stroke of one night.

 _One of these people knows my family, or if I'm lucky, is one of them_ , He thought, pulling out small golden dagger from within his coat and fiddling with it. He picked under his nails with the end of it, admiring its sheen that reflected the overhead sun. Its golden glow was perhaps the only virtue of the item he actually enjoyed, but the rest? Chaos.

After about two hours of watching and waiting for a familiar face to pop up in the crowd, he sighed deeply and leaned back against the stone well wall. He never forgot a face... but could he really remember what his cousins and uncle looked like from so long ago? Frustration prickled through the boy's body as he began to think he wouldn't find them here. What if they moved away? Or worse... what if the same people that imprisoned and killed his parents so long ago killed them too? " _Merda!_ " He swore under his breath, got up, and threw the delicate little dagger down the well angrily.

He began to walk away, knowing the precious dagger would find its place back in his pocket or coat. It always did. No matter how many times he had tried to get rid of it, it reappeared in his possession, or near him at the least.

Ever since he strangled the head of monks at that Spanish monastery that his family forced him to go to. That monk.... _You know you'll never forget those words he said as you choked the last breath out of him... "The dagger is yours to hold, forever hold your peace."_ He thought, remembering the words. That dagger was a symbol of his ruined childhood. A boy forced to grow up, move on, and find answers at an age where the biggest achievement would have been winning a foot race against his neighbors or seeing who could skip a stone across a creek bed the longest. Twice kidnapped, once almost sold into slavery, three times thrown into the back of a sketchy caravan to hitch-hike, and countless times stealing and pickpocketing to be able to survive all the way to Italy. Twelve years old with the mentality of an adult. And all the emotions within him contained anger and betrayal. He wanted revenge.

Revenge to those who wronged his parents under the guise of politics. Revenge to the politics that had ruined him. Revenge to the ruins that cursed him.

The boy made sure his hood was up all the way, giving him good visibility but shielding his face from prying eyes. His hair was usually the biggest giveaway amongst the sea of mainly dark-haired people: chestnut, but when in direct sunlight, the color of a dark fire. Ignazio. Fire. His name was the only thing he really remembered about his parents, always calling him that. He didn't know if that was his real name or not, but it stuck. 

His stomach rumbled, but his pockets were light. He needed to find some food off someone, or better, gold.

 _Target acquired_ , his brain told him, eyes flickering on a young male, about twenty years in age. Brown hair, strong, probably a noble if one looked at his rich clothing, and hanging from his belt was a fat sack of gold. A bad idea, perhaps; he looked strong, but Ignazio could tell by his gait that there was something distracting him on the horizon. A perfect target.

Falling silently in step behind him, Ignazio paced his steps faster and faster until he was almost next to the man. He began to slowly reach for the bag of gold on his belt.

" _Fight! Fight! Fight!_ " Ignazio heard the sound of loud Italian chanting a street over.

The man started walking considerably faster at the sound of the chanting, and Ignazio heard him mutter, "Not again... Let it not be Vieri again..."

Before the man could turn around the corner, Ignazio quickly snatched the gold as the man shifted his weight to turn the corner sharply. A perfect pickpocket. Ignazio kept in pace as he hid the gold in his coat and ducked into the nearest alleyway. He shifted the gold bag between both hands. There had to be at least forty florins in this thing... enough to buy a feast! Ignazio felt a bit guilty like he always did when he pickpocketed, but he justified it by saying to himself that that man was a noble anyway, he didn't need the money, right? Ignazio was trying to survive! He needed it more than them! Still, the familiar feeling of guilt crept over him as he put the gold bag into his belt, next to... ugh, that dagger. That stupid dagger was back. No matter.

Before he could get caught up in his own mind, the sound of chanting got louder. Ignazio's curiosity got the better of him as he went to investigate. The crowd of people got bigger as they started to cluster in a wide circle in the middle of the street.

"Get him! Kill him!" A few people chanted. Ignazio squeezed his way up front to get a better view.

He saw the man he pickpocketed from in the middle of the clearing, talking to a dark-haired man who was bleeding from the lip.

"Come on, little brother. Let's show Vieri not to mess with us." The man said, putting his hand on the other man’s shoulder. The darker-haired man wiped his bleeding lip, red smearing onto his white sleeve.

" _Bastardos!_ Get them! I want their corpses littering the street!" Ignazio looked across the clearing to see a short, long-haired young noble point towards the two men with frustration making his face churn. The man with the bloodied lip flicked his arm to signal a group of shady cohorts behind them to move forward as the nobleman's band of guards advanced.

Ignazio watched with both excitement and anxiousness as both groups charged at each other. At the pinnacle of the fight was the two brothers, both obviously strong and proficient in fighting. The black-haired man threw one punch into a guard's jaw and sent him crashing to the pavement out-cold. The brother, the man Ignazio pickpocketed from, took two of the guards single-handedly, dodging a swing by one and grabbing and kicking the other to the ground. Within a minute the guards were starting to retreat. To no surprise, the nobleman called a retreat before looking disgustedly at the two brothers. The look of "I'll get you next time."

The man walked over to his brother as the crowd started to dissipate and gossip over what just went down. Ignazio kept to the shadows but tried to listen over the rabble. These two brothers were interesting to say the least, but his mind was trying to tell him that if they caught on that they were stolen from, there'd be trouble. They've proven they were remarkably strong and Ignazio didn't want to mess with them. He settled on a bench about twenty feet away from them and tried to listen.

"You're still bleeding," The brown-haired man said with a hint of concern, trying to get a better look at the wound.

"It's fine, brother." The black-haired man replied gruffly, looking away and wiping away the trickling blood from his upper lip again.

"Oh, come along Ezio, we'll get you patched up at the doctor. Mother will have a fit if you show up like this." The man said at the black-haired man apparently named Ezio.

Ezio. _Ezio_. He _knew_ that name. It started to really pick under his skin in the following moments. He knew that name, but from where? Did this Ezio know his family? He felt nauseous all of a sudden. He had to get out of here, it didn't feel safe anymore.

Keeping his head low, he walked down the street in the other direction where the nobleman and his guards fled. Maybe that man could provide answers, he thought. Not by asking, of course. Ignazio was a professional at eavesdropping, and he saw a guard limp into a nearby building. Ignazio kept his back to the wall and made sure nobody was around and pressed his ear against the cool wall.

"--their family will pay! I want the city guard to find, arrest, and hang every member of that blasted Auditore family!" He heard the angry nobleman's voice from before.

 _Auditore_. Oh no.

Ignazio Auditore. Those brothers... Ezio Auditore. He was Ignazio's cousin! And his brother... Federico Auditore. Ignazio never forgot a name so quickly. Especially those of the family who betrayed him. But it was his uncle who betrayed him, not them...

\---  
\---

 

The scene seemed to slow down before pausing.

“What happened to Ignazio?” Renley immediately asked, both enraptured with the way she saw that whole scene unfold and confused on how Ignazio was feeling.

“Difficult topic to explain,” Jon began. “When Ignazio was a child, his parents were taken prisoner for a political issue that is still unclear. Giovanni, Ezio’s father and Ignazio’s uncle, did not want to ruin the reputation he fought so hard to earn. Ignazio was sent to a Spanish monastery which was his safest bet of survival, but things turned sour, to put it simply, and he ran away some years later. He was always bitter about Giovanni not taking him in, but it was truly the best choice given the circumstances.That other Subject we had here was quite interesting as well, namely due to the fact the earlier versions of the Animus actually started to block out and warp parts with Ignazio in it. We think it’s due to the artifact he didn’t have at the time, because it did a weird thing with memories. That’s why the later Subject _could_ see Ignazio. Very difficult to explain, I’m sorry for rambling.”

“Still... it’s strange to feel so much anger... I feel bad for Ignazio.” Renley murmured, trying to keep her focus on Ignazio even though her head was buzzing with questions about this “other Subject” and Ezio.

“You may feel bad for him, but remember what I said earlier: These men are not to be trusted.” Jon warned.

“I understand, sorry.” 

“No problem. Let’s continue.”

\---

 _I can't just sit here,_ Ignazio thought as he started walking in the direction where his cousins went. They said they were going to the doctors, and he remembered seeing one on his way in (and the exact location he was at, thanks to his memory). Ignazio headed for the doctor’s, staring from across the street at the peculiar bird-masked man. Strange that a man meant to help people would dress as a creature of prey. He was disappointed to see that the doctor had no patients at the moment and was packing up medicine.

He approached the doctor with a confident gait. "Hello, were two brothers here just now? One with a bloody lip?" He asked, keeping his voice level and clear. 

Ignazio couldn't tell his expression behind that strange bird mask, but he responded, "They went down that street, but I'm not sure. Sorry, why do you ask?"

"No reason. Thank you." Ignazio said simply, walking in the direction the doctor directed. He wasn’t trained in the art of speech with people, which was a valuable skill. He prayed the doctor was too caught up in his own work to mind much about his suspicion.

A shadow flicked past the cobblestone in front of where Ignazio was trodding. Another shadow nimbly followed. Ignazio swiftly tilted his head up to see the two brothers racing and climbing up and over Florence’s many buildings and towers that cascaded over Ignazio’s view. He thought he was the only one with exceptional climbing and running skills from all the times he had tried to escape the monastery, but he was proven wrong as Ezio and Federico easily scaled the great tower above the square Ignazio had just entered.

The chestnut-haired boy ran over to a group of barrels and started to climb, ledge by ledge, until he was on the roof. He hid on the shingled house roof behind the tower, hidden by a large chimney post. Ignazio tried to listen to see where they were going or what they were saying.

"This is a good life we lead, brother." He heard Federico's voice.

"The best. May it never change," Ezio responded with utmost confidence to his brother.

"And may it never change us!"

 

Ignazio waited for a few minutes while the brothers took in the beautiful view of a sun setting over Florence. He had almost closed his eyes in exhaustion, but was jerked awake when he heard Ezio and Federico talk again.

"We should head home," said Federico as he began to climb down. He stopped when Ezio didn't respond right away.

"Ezio? Oh, come on. Let Cristina sleep." He huffed, and Ignazio could almost hear his eyes rolling.

"There will be time for that..." Ezio's voice sounded mischievous.

"Fine, I'll make up some sort of story for Mother... as usual." Federico sighed as he jumped the rest of the way down, his boots smacking onto the adjacent roof to Ignazio.

Ignazio didn't realize that when he dozed off, he let his leg slide out to a more relaxed position. Realizing this, he quickly hugged both legs to his chest, praying they didn't notice. Before he could get to the praying bit, a loose shingle slid down the roof and landed with a clatter on the ground below.

"What's that? Who's there?" He heard Ezio's voice as his heart jumped to his throat. _Merda!_

He heard muttering and whispers between the two brothers before he heard footsteps behind him. Without thinking, Ignazio jolted out from his hiding spot, unsheathing his dagger and pointing it at them, his stance wide.

"Don't. Move." He snarled, trying to sound as menacing as possible. The setting sun set fire to his eyes as he challenged the two men.

Surprised at first, Federico almost fell straight onto his backside but Ezio caught him and got him upright. Once they processed the situation, Ezio smirked arrogantly down at him.

"That's quite the fancy letter-opener you've got there, boy." He laughed haughtily, crossing his arms. He was quite unimpressed with what he was seeing.

Ignazio smirked, knowing something they did not. He shut his eyes for a second, envisioning another form for the dagger to take shape. He opened his eyes, a golden shortsword elongating immediately from where the dagger was only a second ago. Ezio and Federico took a step back as Ignazio spun the sword a few times in his hand. 

“What in the hell is _that_?” Federico’s mouth was agape as he stared at the gleaming golden weapon in incredulity.

“It’s an ancient and powerful weapon. I stole it from a church awhile back, and killed twenty of Italia’s greatest soldiers! God himself probably made it!” Ignazio hissed, taking a step forward. Federico stepped back again, but Ezio stayed put.

“You use such a grand and holy item only for yourself?” Ezio asked, and to Ignazio’s annoyance, he seemed unimpressed yet again. Federico started to catch on that this boy was lying about his little story too, narrowing his eyes.

“What’s it matter to you? Do you even know who I am?” Ignazio growled, his knuckles tightening around his strange shape-shifting weapon.

“A thief of a great weapon. A boy cannot be a lone warrior.” Ezio huffed, keeping his dark eyes fixated on Ignazio’s every movement.

"It doesn’t matter what devilish weapon he possesses," Federico suddenly snapped, grabbing for his shortsword on his belt, appearing to not be afraid any longer. “This ends now!” His hands found the shortsword's hilt, but after further examination, he realized something else was missing.

"My gold! Where's the gold Father gave me? I just had the thing! Fifty-five florins... _Merda _!" Federico frantically started searching the rooftop's ground, forgetting all about Ignazio. Ezio didn't lose his gaze from Ignazio, however, glaring at him coldly. In turn, Ignazio's hand started to quiver as he watched an obsessive Federico nervously.__

__"You wouldn't happen to know anything about Federico's stolen money, now would you?" Ezio spoke smoothly. Those dark eyes gave away nothing._ _

__Ignazio looked quite nervous now, and finally lowered his weapon, the sword shifting back into the small dagger. He took the bag of stolen gold from his belt and threw it at their feet._ _

__"You should be more aware of your things, cousin. A thief knows when to strike, with or without a blade." He returned Ezio’s cold glare, even as his voice quivered._ _

__Federico nor Ezio even glanced at the money now, instead staring at Ignazio, who proceeded to take off his hood and reveal the full features of himself._ _

__" _Madre di Dio_... It's you..." Federico blinked twice, then three times before believing what he was seeing. Ezio stared blankly for several moments._ _

__"I thought you were dead." Ezio murmured simply._ _

__"Your genius of a father and bastard of an uncle of mine decided it would be absolutely preposterous for the child of two prisoners to live with him. I was shipped off to Madrid to men who could have cared less for me. I seek revenge." Ignazio hissed, keeping his defensive stance._ _

__"Revenge? Well, you're a pretty terrible assassin for just blatantly saying you want to harm our own father out loud, especially after you stole my money! You’re nothing more than a thief with a stolen devil’s artifact!" Federico shouted, getting considerably more angry than how calm Ezio was being. It was strange that the younger sibling acted more collected than the older._ _

__"I already gave the money back, though..." Ignazio grumbled almost inaudibly._ _

__"Lost your voice? Come on, Ezio. He wants to meet our father, he should!" Federico sneered, reaching to grab for Ignazio. The boy slapped Federico’s arm away and backed up, shaking as he pointed his dagger threateningly at him. He knew how good of fighters these two were, and his fear was clear. He suddenly didn’t want to kill anyone... especially family._ _

__"Stop it, Federico." Ezio almost commanded his older brother. Federico obviously didn't like that, spitting but backing away. Ezio walked slowly towards Ignazio with a softer expression._ _

__"Look, I don't fully believe you, but if it's your wish to see our father, we will take you to him." He offered, his eyes full of a compassion Ignazio was never used to. Maybe it was just the light._ _

__Ignazio looked into his eyes in that brief moment, contemplating to just run and forget about his well-thought-out revenge plan, but he made himself stop shivering and straighten up._ _

__"Okay," He squeaked, not meeting his gaze any longer and instead he stared down at Ezio’s boots. Perhaps it was the sheer weight of meeting his real family again that made him so suddenly overwhelmed and incapable of threatening them any longer. Ignazio started getting embittered again at his own shortcoming, clenching his fists, but Ezio simply put a hand on his shoulder._ _

__"It will be fine, don't worry. I'll make sure Federico doesn't skin you alive on the way home," He joked, glancing at his brother, who began to visibly calm down. Very high-strung, that one._ _

__Family is a strange term for those who have little love in their hearts. What does existence mean if those hallowed short chapters at the beginning flesh out something that is inherently better off not existing?_ _

___There’s no answer for that one,_ Ignazio thought. In time, though. In time he would figure it out, for better or for worse._ _


End file.
